


Dream of a Stairway to the Sky

by Omano



Series: Where is the Edge...? [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Adam is Saved, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bonding, Brother Feels, Canon-Typical Violence, Changing Tenses, Dean hates Lucifer, Dean hates archangels in general, Dreams and Nightmares, Heaven's Civil War, M/M, Michael is confused and a bit unstable, Protective Dean Winchester, Protective Lucifer, Sam has a good heart, Tags Are Hard, Time Travel, Wooing, archangels with crushes, but he has attitude to make up for it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-03
Updated: 2016-10-03
Packaged: 2018-01-03 09:52:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 89,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1069064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Omano/pseuds/Omano
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Dean managed to convince Cas to give up on Purgatory and trust them to find a way to fight Raphael. Now with that heavy burden on their shoulders it sets them off a bit when Lucifer turns up out of nowhere. The Devil apparently can't sit idly when he has a Winchester to woo...<br/>Dean is worried sick and pissed, Sam is confused and can make decisions on his own, thank you very much, Lucifer is not the type to give anything up not even when a gun is pointed at him, Adam plays psychologist to archangels and Michael... Well, noone really knows what he's doing in his freetime.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own anything but the idea and the words that happened to put themselves after each other.  
> The title is from a Within Temptation song as is the chapter's title.  
> This part concentrates more on Sam and Lucifer, and it really gives me all the troubles... so forgive me for all of that...  
> Further tags will be added as the story forms.  
> I hope you'll like it though :)

**Dream of a Stairway to the Skies**

**chapter1**

**Seven seconds till the rise**

“Dean.” Sam grumbled then called out louder as his brother’s gaze didn’t as much as waver. “Dean.”

“What?” Dean asked, and wasn’t it a sight to see how his expression could turn from _‘I’m worried sick about you, Sammy, and I’ll murder anything including you if that hinders me to make you better’_ to ‘ _I haven’t done anything, I’m innocent as a now-born baby’_.

But Sam only rolled his eyes. “Just wanted to let you know, you can stop staring at me like that.”

“Like what?” Did he sound defensive now? Good.

“Dean, it was only a little nightmare.” Sam did his hair over with the towel one last time before standing and putting it over the backrest of the chair to dry. This way he didn’t see the new flash of annoyed-worry in Dean’s eyes.

“That is exactly the point. A nightmare. You only lay down for a nap Sam and you were this close to screaming your throat hoarse.” Dean said, his eyes gleaming at the edges as he looked over his oversized little brother.

But Sam wasn’t fazed by it this time. Dean was overreacting things as usual. He didn’t need to feel guilty again for not functioning as any other normal human. He wasn’t normal for crying out loud, and he just sort of accepted it, he didn’t need his brother to rub it in his face yet again. Also it wasn’t true. Dean shook him awake but only his hands were shivering a bit and he was panting but nothing else. No screaming, his throat felt no worse than any other morning, and the sweat that broke on his skin was only because they decided to spend another day in Utah to make sure the ghost was burnt and they didn’t screw up anything and it was just unbearably hot this season.

Don’t make me bring up your sleeping habits after your little trip to Hell, Sam wanted to bark but instead just sighed silently and busied himself finding a clean shirt in his duffel.

“I don’t even remember any of it, so could you let it go? It was nothing special.” Maybe it had come out better if he made up having a nightmare about that boy they saved, but his pleading puppy looks would have to do right now. “Anyway what about celebrating our success with sharing a salad with me?”

That brought the desired effect of putting off Dean.

“No fucking way, man!” he exclaimed and was this close to crossing his hands in front of him as if he wanted to keep the Devil away. “I’m a warrior, you can’t expect me to live on rabbit food!”

“Dude, we like survive all the things that kill 10 per cent of the people and your cholesterol will end you.”

“I seriously doubt it’ll have enough time. Bring me something unhealthy and we’ll be fine.”

Sam shook his head with a small smile forming at the edge of his lips when Dean called out in a frenzy,

“If you get me a salad you’ll be living on onion rings for a month!”

“You’d have to make up with sitting next to me in the Impala,” Sam protested while he tried to hide his mortified grimace.

“Suits me fine,” Dean shrugged, now calmed that he was saved from a healthy lunch. “And pie! If you want to celebrate get me some pie, bitch!”

“Jerk,” Sam answered as he took the car keys from Dean’s hand and left for the diner to get their lunch.

~*~

When Sam returned to his great surprise he found Dean all packed and sitting on the edge of his bed taut like a bowstring ready to bolt any second, gaze hanging on the door his right hand fidgeting and drawing endless patterns on the handle of his gun.

“Hey, what’s happened?” Sam asked with eyebrows raised high to his hairline.

“Pack up,” Dean ordered gruffly and stood to take the bags from Sam’s hand, movements fluid and purposeful. Like on a job.

“What? Why?” Sam asked but moved to his side of the room. Whatever it was Dean wouldn’t be so worked up over nothing. “You were the one who insisted we stayed another day.”

“Yeah, but then I haven’t seen like two police cars circling around in ten minutes.”

Okay that was a bit much for being a simple coincidence.

Sam only rejected the urge to start throwing his things into the bag in irritation. “I remember you stating everything was clear. I swear, Dean if you left any trace-“

“Don’t get this blamed on me!-” Dean snapped then cut himself before he said something else too.

Sam turned toward his brother, shoulders square, eyes challenging.

“Fuck it.” Dean grumbled and turned away after a second of intense staring at each other. He moved about the room, checking the drawers, leaving the closet’s door wide open for Sam to see he didn’t left anything there. But no matter how his irritation caught up with Sam, he didn’t miss how Dean’s eyes wandered back to the door every moment as if expecting an officer to come rattling at their door any time.

“I’m done.” Sam announced and swung his duffle over his shoulder. “Want me to settle the bill or-“

“Nah, I’ve got it. Just loan the car. I’ll be there in a sec.”

Sam nodded, it wasn’t time for further arguments, they were professionals at getting away from scenes in minutes without a trace after all, and it quickly turned from casual hanging out to finishing a job properly. It even made Sam forget about that strange sensation he had when he stood in line in the diner. The short hairs prickled at the back of his neck and he swore his insides quivered for a second and he thought he’d collapse on the floor. But no chills, no electric short-outs, nothing that meant a ghost. So he brushed it aside for further investigation.

“When you’re at it,” Dean called after him, and he turned back from the doorway, “call Bobby and tell him we’re going over for a visit.”

Dean flashed him one more strained smile, probably as an apology for being so snappish and jittery, and Sam couldn’t help the way his own eyes lit up. Maybe the weather won’t be so awful in Sioux Falls and both of them will cool down a bit. Hopefully the familiarity of Bobby’s home would help them catch a good night’s sleep finally…

He totally missed the smeared angel sigil to the left of the door with the bloody palm mark in the middle.

~*~

_Same time states away…_

“What the fucking hell is going on?!” Adam bellowed as he rushed down the stairs clinging to the railing.

He had to grab a firm hold on the doorframe to the kitchen because he really felt like the floor was about to slip out from under his feet and move rather to the ceiling. The lights were flickering, the electric devices switched on and off, the TV decided it wanted to live its own life switching itself on, but apparently didn’t find any interesting channels because it was only the empty static buzz growing louder and louder with each passing second. But it still wasn’t loud enough to drown out the screeching sound in the air that left his ears ringing. It accelerated in volume as the ground shook – which was crazy! Adam couldn’t recall any actual earthquakes!

Then the back door to the kitchen slammed open to reveal an infuriated Lucifer – and holy shit! The reprimanding cry got stuck in Adam’s throat. There were beams of light rooting in Lucifer’s back flashing out like lightning and his eyes sparkled like the storm gathering outside.

And in the middle of all this there was Michael, who just sat collected and calm as if not a natural disaster was happening around him but only a small breeze caressing his shoulder.

“ _Michael_!” Lucifer thundered.

Or at least Adam thought it was the ex-archangel’s voice, his mouth moved but the screeching sound started to climb to unbearable heights in volume and Adam couldn’t take it any longer. He had to press his hands to his ears, and to be honest he wouldn’t be so surprised had he touched blood dripping down his neck at this point, and yes, the ringing definitely moved inside his skull.

He saw as Lucifer tore into the room filling the small space with his presence and burning the newspaper in Michael’s hands to ashes just with a glare. Then he slammed something down on the kitchen table. It resulted in most of the furniture along the walls collapse in a ring.

Adam drew the line there.

“STOP IT!” he hollered, or at least he hoped he did, because he couldn’t hear his own damn voice over the screeching, “Stop destroying my home Goddamnyou!”

His sudden intrusion and the fact that he actually found his voice struck both angels as a surprise and for a whole second the world seem to freeze and now the silence was deafening and it floored Adam.

“What the fuck’s going on?” he repeated as he finally managed to pull himself up to his shaking knees. His voice clung in the air heavy with ozone and crackling with tension.

“It’s all your fault, Michael,” Lucifer hissed and leaned over the table that miraculously survived his grand entrance.

“Whatever is not mine,” Michael said calmly and crossed his arms over his chest meeting his brother’s burning gaze evenly.

“It is when you threw my anchor away!” Lucifer screamed and there was a blinding flash of light.

When Adam dared to lower his arm back he found the two archangels toe to toe, and he didn’t even think about how Michael’s vessel was shorter it didn’t matter at the moment. Michael’s eyes were liquid silver, his features cold and hard in an unforgiving mask of authority in the face of blame.

“Only to teach you a lesson.”

“You know very well what you did! What you’ve caused!” Lucifer snarled and grabbed the front of Michael’s shirt, the two eternal beings staring into each other’s gleaming eyes.

Outside the sky grew dark as in the middle of the night, the wind picked up and it blew through the door freezing cold.

Michael’s hand moved slow and measured and his fingers wound around the marble hard flesh of Lucifer’s wrist, squeezing hard enough to leave a burning mark but his features slowly softened into one of tender disapproval. Lucifer’s lips pressed into a firm line, thinner than the edge of a knife and there was real fire burning in his eyes, his rage and hurt pride obvious in his features, but Michael held him firm. Grounding.

For a flash Lucifer seemed to break, his mask cracking up into vulnerable youth overlapped with the eternal ocean of loneliness and betrayal, then it was all gone. The earth shuddered one last time, and as if a dark whole was punched into the soil the dark clouds, the lightning and the ferocious wind was all gone, all sucked down into the core of the Earth.

“So now that you’ve successfully destroyed my kitchen,” Adam started, because now he felt more like it was his ground. Calmed, a bit still shiny-eyed but now he could try and call the two winged bastards to account for their shit that they weren’t about to tear him to atoms as collateral damage. “Would you finally explain. What. The. Hell?!”

Lucifer shoved Michael off with and irritated huff and made a great show of rubbing and wincing at his wrist. Michael’s fingers were clearly visible. Lucky, the Devil wasn’t one to go out too often. That would be a pain in the head to explain.

“I have a nuisance of a brother. That is,” Lucifer growled.

“It was all your fault, Lucifer,” Michael said and turned on his heels to move to the other room, steadying Adam on his feet as he went. “You should have prepared a plan of action. Otherwise it is just natural to fall hard when you rush into things without considering your options first.”

“You want me to make plans?” Lucifer sneered, and even though he was closer back to his usual smooth talk, the upturn of his smirk was cold as ice and he absentmindedly squeezed his bruised wrist hard to keep from flicking out again. “How well did it serve you brother so far?”

“Fairer than you. You should have prepared yourself for the sigil.”

“Sigil? What sigil?” Adam quipped in curiously.

“There is a sigil able to banish any angel in the room back to Heaven,” Michael answered him. By this time he was more or less over that Adam lacked the usual terrified-adoration that he was used to in people’s attitude towards him.

“Back to Heaven? All angels?”

“It’s not strong enough to banish us archangels,” Michael started, but Lucifer interrupted him.

“It is if it’s unexpected. Which sort of was in my case, okay. But just for the record it’d work as fine and dandy on you too Michael. You are just a bit more paranoid because you don’t want to show your pretty face up in Heaven.”

Michael only sent him a crushing glare, to which Lucifer only responded with the stubborn tilt of his chin.

“Then why aren’t you up in Heaven Lucifer? Or are you back so quick?”

“…No. There’s no such direct angel-route to earth. I was banned from the fluffy world long ago,” after a short pause Lucifer’s eyes snapped at Michael again, “This is why I asked Michael to keep me channelled back here. Which he _didn’t_.”

“How?” Adam looked from one angel to the other questioningly.

“There are certain ways to guide where one is zapped away. Guide his flight so to say,” Lucifer flashed a gold coin dancing among his fingers playfully and now it was more like the Lucifer Adam had been drinking with for the past two days. “Maybe I should trust it on you Adam, since one can’t trust family nowadays.”

 “No way, man! I don’t need you turn up from thin air whenever you please! Just leave it at Michael!”

Michael left the room without as much as a shrug. Lucifer stuck out his forked tongue at his back.

Adam really felt he should grab the back of Michael‘s shirt and send him to one corner and toss Lucifer into the other so that they could think about how childish they behaved. Children, who could wipe his house off the map during a fight, but that was too much to think about right now.

“So…” Adam gave an attempt at small talk and to soothe the Devil’s ruffled feathers. “Where have you been?”

“You do realize that you sound like a mother right?” Lucifer snickered and Adam knocked his head on the shelf of the fridge when the sound came immediately from his left. “You only didn’t put your hands on your hips to scold me for staying out over curfew.”

“You certainly need it,” Adam muttered, “Someone forgot to teach you manners.”

Lucifer chuckled at that kicking his heels to the dented cupboard where he was sitting on top of it.

“I went out to see Sammy,” Lucifer started on a cheery tone that pulled some strings in Adam’s memory, but his face clouded quickly. “I only happened to run into your other brother. He didn’t even tell me where Sam was, the dick. I wonder how he was so quick to zap me away. They are supposed to have those sigils in their ribs that hide them from angels…”

“So how did you find them? Or is it another archangel thing?”

“Nope. They are hidden even now. But others aren’t. A little questioning makes your life so much easier.”

Adam didn’t want to know.

And apparently he asked the wrong question and didn’t flee when he still could. Now Lucifer decided Adam was his personal psychologist – or maybe he was a friend? one would never know with the Devil – and he was set to spend his night listening to Lucifer lament about what an ass Dean was that he didn’t let him meet and talk to Sam. By the time Adam ran out of finding anything to drown out Lucifer’s babbling and he moved up to his room to at least get comfortably horizontal, Lucifer took his usual – wasn’t it crazy that he could call is usual by now? – place on top of Adam’s desk, fiddling with his pens as he gesticulated in wide arcs like a teenager Adam grew to think of him as one. Now Lucifer was describing Dean’s stunned face when he saw him snickering all along his various ideas of what might have crossed the hunter’s mind in that moment, and also what might go through now that he had to come to terms with Lucifer – who was supposed to be tearing Michael’s feathers off his wings one by one happily – being upstairs. Or maybe he’d finally admit that he was crazy? Torturing his little mind for a bit…

Adam fell back on his pillow and wondered when did it become his life?

~*~

Fire – cold – blood red and gold – but dead. It wasn’t warm, the wall of flames didn’t chase the cold away it just crept further into his bones. He wanted to scream but his mouth was dry and full of ashes of his tongue, the fire devoured his flesh and ran down his veins burning him up –

Cold.

It was cold but he wasn’t in Hell. He wasn’t tortured. The mattress under him was hard but just as he liked it, the linen covers were thin and soft –

He was still dreaming. It wasn’t a set of a crappy motel room around him where he usually dreamt himself to though, it looked disturbingly familiar, oddly like home – but still closer to a nightmare…

Another cool wave washed over him as his nerves started to heat up but it didn’t calm him at all.

There was someone behind him gently pressed up to his back. A hard body. Someone that brought the words cold and light to his mind, like the clear winter sky above as one was freezing to death in the middle of the wilderness, with a deadly illusion of too beautiful light as his last vision –

Fingertips caressed his sides softly, their touch barely there, barely present but steady, yet it made the hairs on his arm and the back of his neck stand on end and he felt a huff of air brush his shoulder –

Dread settled in his stomach and spread through his body, his eyes widened, pupils blown, his breathing picked up –

Sam woke shivering in his bed.

Sioux Falls – he knew immediately as his eyes snapped open and refocused in the darkness of the room. His old room at Bobby’s. He knew the patterns on the ceiling like he knew the back of his palm, no matter how much time they’d spent away from the house they secretly called home in their hearts. Sam could tell at first glance which lines and smears of mildew were new. He had memorised them long ago when they were kids and he couldn’t sleep and counted the cracks before he decided he’d venture to Dean’s room and beg his brother to let him stay the night.

He was safe.

It would be ridiculous how such memories that he connected to his childhood horrors soothed him, but in his line of work it wasn’t that surprising. He would trade his old fears of the dark any time for the monsters he had to fight every day he was awake. Not to mention those he had to face when he was asleep and guards down.

For a blessed second he couldn’t recall what jolted him awake then it all came back with the shivers that shook his body. He didn’t remember any shapes or voices, not even the vague impression that he had been running or talking to someone. Just the cold and the fear.

It was one of those nights he had to get up before he risked to close his eyes in the hope of some rest. Sam grabbed his discarded shirt and decided a glass of water was a good idea. Maybe if he walked a bit around the house his body would catch up with the heat of the season and would stop shivering.

He opened the door and his ears hearkened up at the sound of the TV going downstairs. It must be Dean. Sam froze for a second, deep in thought measuring his options whether he should go down and risk the worried strange looks Dean had been giving him for the past few days especially since they abruptly set off to visit Bobby, but then he thought he could handle that. He had a big brother to check on now and then after all. It was as much his duty as it was Dean’s, though Sam could keep it much more subtle. He wasn’t stupid, he knew his big brother would get all the more big brotherly if he found out Sam thought of him that way.

The clock in the side-room hit 3.30 am. At least Dean was more likely to shut it and accept the company at such ungodly hour. And maybe Sam could coerce him into his much-needed 4 hours beauty-sleep this late.

Sam first went to the kitchen and returned with his own glass of water and a beer for Dean, who was slumped in the couch in a somewhat uncomfortable position that Sam suspected he took so that he wouldn’t fall asleep since the TV held none of his interest at all. It’s not that he didn’t frown upon Dean picking up drinking again, but now at least there wasn’t a pile of already emptied bottles in front of him, so this one was as good as a peace offering.

Dean took the bottle and silently offered the remote control in return. Sam only shook his head and took his seat at his brother’s side.

“Troubles sleeping?” Dean asked hoarsely after a few minutes of sipping their drinks in silence.

“It’s too warm,” Sam answered. The lie came too easily considering that he just stopped shivering. But Dean accepted it without further comment. They both knew that Sam’d always run warmer so he suffered most during such hot summers.

“You should at least try to catch a glimpse of sleep yourself Dean,” Sam said gently. “Stay horizontal. That would at least relax your back a little.”

Dean sent him a nasty sideways glance but seeing his bloodshot eyes only worsened Sam’s worries for his brother.

“I don’t want angels in my dreams, thanks.” Dean grumbled and as far as he was concerned the discussion was over.

Sam heaved a sigh. So it still bothered Dean – after the whole tragic incident of Castiel working together with Crowley to find Purgatory because the angel didn’t come to him for help in the first place – it had hurt Dean badly.  Cut him to the core and ever since then the older Winchester had been haunted by nightmares.

Nightmares of failing. Failing to stop Castiel from becoming a monster, from losing himself. Or failing to save all the casualties a war between him and Raphael would bring, then failing to save that monster afterwards – or when his mind really wanted to torture him he’d dream about killing Cas. Failing a friend. Failing Cas…

They’ll have to do something about their sleeping problems or they most certainly won’t survive their next hunt. And Bobby won’t be happy either to find them both in awkward positions slumbering on his couch and then listen to them complaining about the cramps in their neck and shoulders the next day.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucifer has learnt his lesson about arranging meetings. But... there are certain sensitive subjects. And Sam has a too good heart. Which he'll definitely regret later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the nice comments! and for the kudos!  
> They are the only reason why you have any kind of an update before Christmas.... :) So thank you for motivating me! ^^  
> I hope you'll like this part too!

**Dream of a Stairway to the Skies**

**chapter2**

**_This time may have changed_ **

 

Sam woke with a start of Dean’s voice cracking in the Impala. He blinked a few times quickly, taking in his surrounding and assuring his racing heart that it was okay, he was with Dean in Washington.

“Are we there yet?” he asked with a faked yawn and rubbed at his bloodshot eyes.

“Yeah,” Dean confirmed gruffly and Sam didn’t even have to glance at him to know he had that glint to his eyes. It just didn’t seem to leave for the past week. “I get the room, you unload our stuff Sleeping Beauty.”

“Shut up jerk,” Sam growled and now fought with a real, jaw cracking yawn.

“Bitch,” Dean shot back on autopilot, but at least the fact that the usual banter came so easily to their mouths eased his worries and after tossing the keys in Sam’s lap he crawled out of the car.

For one more minute Sam just sat back in his seat, pressed the heel of his hands to his eyes and tried to breathe. Just breathe.

It was okay. It’s okay, he kept on telling himself and didn’t even realize when the voice of his thoughts changed to Dean’s. It’s okay, Sammy, it’s okay.

The words started to blur around the edges, like a softly gleaming fog creeping up over them, soothed out the gruff voice and turned smooth as silvery velvet –

Sam’s eyes snapped open and he scrambled out of the car that suddenly felt really small and restraining. He didn’t want to analyze why his heart wasn’t racing with the same terror as it did when he first recognized the voice whispering in his head during the nights.

~*~

He didn’t like getting into fights with Dean, especially not when people’s lives depended on how fast they solve a case without spilling each other’s guts, but there was just no helping it. Dean tended to get overly anxious anyway and got even worse at communicating his worries properly and Sam was snappish too. And then there was that freaking wall in his head which didn’t disappear and came back smacking him in the face every single time they just so much as brushed the topic of the Cage and the time he had spent without his soul.

Which they did. Far too often. Because who could hurt you more than the one you love the most?

Dean didn’t mean it. Sam knew, damn he did by the second the words leashed out of his brother’s mouth, he had regretted them and immediately reached out for Sam to say he was so damn sorry, but it just wasn’t enough. It didn’t provide atonement at all.

Sam dodged Dean’s hand, shrugged it away when the elder finally managed to catch him by his upper arm, and snapped with unshed tears burning his eyes and guilt rising in his throat like bile and he snapped, he didn’t even remember what, but the word alone made Dean back away to the farthest end of the room.

So he ended up wandering the streets of this sleepy town of Washington. He would have bet good money that a ghost would surface in a town like this. He would have won. And it wouldn’t be much of a problem if he and Dean weren’t arguing and the tension between them wasn’t palpable.

It wasn’t his fault he couldn’t sleep properly and that he woke up even more stressed out than he had gone to bed!

Or maybe it just was. The mirror told him so every single morning. His reflection was grinning back at him evilly and without a soul. Like a demon lingering over your shoulder watching your time ticking away, hungry for your desperation and watching you with a pervert satisfaction as you fall apart under the impending doom of unavoidable end.

He collapsed on a bench in the park next to the church and dropped his forehead in his hands.

It started to feel cold –

Sam gritted his teeth but no matter how much he tried the helpless little withering moan escaped.

No, not the dreams – he begged, and honestly he wasn’t far away from totally breaking down to praying – I’m fully awake, just – just don’t!

He didn’t want to go back. The thin flashes of his memories about his time in the Cage that leaked through the cracks of the wrecked wall seeping into his brain mercilessly – the fire, the screaming around him, Adam – Oh God! Adam! So close to him and he was unable to do anything, he couldn’t help his brother – he saved one but the other-!

Before the guilt swallowed him whole the beast that still lived in him even despite the lack of demon blood circling around in his veins lifted off his shoulder and dissolved like dark mist and something cool took its place.

It was bright. Not like those flashes that left your eyes stinging when it appeared, but soothing. It curved into darkness, didn’t chase it away but made the shadows less frightening. Its presence encouraging you to go on, to survive another night.

Someone took the seat next to him, but instead of sitting next to him, the stranger took the place on top of the backrest, a jean-clad leg pressed up along his side and curious, gentle fingers brushed his shoulder. The palm was flat on his back, running in big lazy circles until they came to a rest at the back of his neck. Sam froze for a second, but the hand remained gentle, it didn’t push him into submission nor did it pull him up by force. His nape fitted perfectly between thumb and forefinger, the knob of his spine rested in the scoop of the palm. As if he had been sculpted to fit into that hand…

This thought should have bothered him more. It should have freaked him out because there was only one time when he had felt so fitting for something – but the nimble fingers chose that time to run higher and start playing with his hair. And that was too soothing for him to care for anything.

He didn’t even realize that the soft melody he heard didn’t come from the church as he assumed.

Nor that he had nodded off.

~*~

“Hello, Sam.”

A school yard. Warm summer night with clear sky and billions of stars scattered on the huge dark canvas even at the pale light of the streetlamp. He was sitting on a bench in front of a pair of swings –

“Hi,” Lucifer said wiggling his fingers at him with a mischievous grin on his face from one of the swings.

Sam felt all colour drain from his face and his blood freeze in his veins. This is not happening. This is not happening. This is so not happening…

“It is,” Lucifer sneered, and planted his heels on the ground to slow down his swaying, but not stopping the soft screeching of the suspension of the swing. “Or it depends. For me it certainly is real and so it should be for you. Unless you try to go on and convince yourself otherwise which would lead to a stairway to a booby hatch I have to say…”

“…Why are you here?” The words crawled out with claws tearing into Sam’s sandpaper dry throat.

“I found it appropriate to finally arrange a meeting face to face?” Lucifer shrugged. “I can’t really ask you to tip me off about your whereabouts if you don’t see me, right?”

Sam swallowed hard. Even if Lucifer had gone through the trouble to take someone’s shape Sam actually trusted a question of ‘Where are you now?’ would definitely give him away no matter how tired Sam was…

But… No. It wasn’t real. Lucifer was in the Cage, he just got back to their motel room he shared with Dean and after a beer of reconciliation they both faceplanted on their equally uncomfortable beds and he was just dreaming. Just dreaming, jus his memories from the Cage seeping back in-

“No, no, no, I wouldn’t go there if I were you Sam,” Lucifer chided. “We all know you have a thing for torturing yourself but please. I don’t have that much grace to spare for each guilt-trip of yours.”

Lucifer hopped off the swing and strolled up to stand in front of Sam then lean down and with one cold finger lift up his head from where he had dropped it again into his hands. The Devil’s eyes were a bright shade of blue, like the lightnings cracking in a storm and the air he breathed into the hunter’s face was chilly to pull him back into the present.

“Accept is Sammy, I’m back,” he said softly, “but you have nothing to be afraid of. I mean no harm.”

Not without difficulty Sam threw himself away from Lucifer and jumped up from the bench backing away.

“I don’t trust anything you say.” He stated and set his jaw stubbornly. “We’ll get you back in Hell.”

“That’s getting old, get over it. I did. I’m good. Or I guess I am. Point is, I don’t want to hurt you Sam.”

“You said it last time as well.”

“Was I not true to my word?”

“How about our little time in Hell?”

“You asked for it,” Lucifer said sharply and crossed his arms over his chest. Now he looked a bit irritated. “Come on, Sam, just give me a chance! I’d do anything you want.”

“Then leave me alone!”

“Except for that-“

“Leave me alone, I don’t want to see you ever again. You want to torture me any longer-“

“Sam, you don’t get it. We started off on the wrong foot but now it’s all different.”

“Oh yes? How exactly?”

“I didn’t ever try to coerce you into saying yes to me, did I?”

“In five sentences I didn’t expect you to,” Sam snapped. “I will never say yes to you again!”

“That’s beside the point, Sam, can’t you see it? Apocalypse is over, I don’t care anymore.”

“Because you don’t have any more brothers to kill? Strange, Raphael is still up there kicking.”

“That was a low blow.”

“You killed Gabriel, Michael is off the map too, so what now? Uproot the whole family?”

Sam wasn’t exactly right in his assumptions but this wasn’t the time Lucifer would correct him. The hunter just stepped on a too sensitive nerve for that and it took him all his will-power to keep relatively calm and collected.

“Come on, I’m fairly certain Gabriel is still alive, hiding away somewhere as a coward as he is.”

“What a nice concept you have of family.” Sam snorted but couldn’t stop his feet as he started backing away at the naked rage and hurt on Lucifer’s face.

“Imagine how much it’d make you suffer to kill your beloved brother, Sam Winchester, and you’d have an idea how much it pained me to kill my little brother; but it pained me even more to see that he had no sense of loyalty in him.”

“Loyalty?! Seriously? You are the one to preach of loyalty?”

“I might have rebelled, but I’ve never been disloyal-“

“You turned against Michael, your brothers, your Father-!”

“But I have loved them all the same,” and now Lucifer was all up in Sam’s space, holding him by his strong grip of the lapels of Sam’s shirt, his back firm against a suddenly there wall of ice, Lucifer cold and hard on his front, his breath fanning over his face, eyes blazing with his grace –

 

“SAM! SAM!”

With a gasp Sam jerked awake and nearly slapped Dean in the face.

“Whoah, easy there, dude,” Dean said as he backed a bit away, but beneath his careless façade Sam could hear his relief when he saw his brother now awake and panting brushing his long bangs out of his sweaty forehead.

“It’s okay Sammy,” Dean put a warm firm hand on Sam’s shoulder. “Bad dream, huh?”

“Yeah,” Sam breathed. “Just a bad dream.”

It took some time, but when Sam could finally look his brother in the face they stayed like that for long moments, each of them trying to read the other. What had been going on in their heads, how serious the damage was.

“You know,” Dean started his voice gruff and harsh in the silence of the night, “We’ll have to talk about these bad dreams of yours.”

Sam sighed deeply and looked Dean straight in the eyes.

“You want another night of truth for truth?’ Sam asked and his voice sounded sharper than he wanted. He didn’t want to give off the vibes so strongly that he knew Dean had been keeping something from him. Again. It was obvious how royally he failed as the other flinched. “It’s okay Dean. I’m just stressed. That’s all…” he decided it wasn’t time for another fight. “The fact that, that we can’t do anything to help Cas is – that’s really bothering me.”

Dean searched his eyes. “You and me both,” he said and squeezed Sam’s shoulder encouragingly. But by the slight upturn of his mouth after that – Sam knew him enough to know that he didn’t believe him at all.

“Let’s get back to sleep.” He stood at his little brother’s bed until Sam finally lay back down. “I’ll be back in a second.” Dean said and disappeared to the bathroom. He opened the tap and the air was filled with the sound of running water.

Sam felt the guilt and anger rising inside him and they made breathing hard. So many things had changed, in the world, in their lives, in their relationship and he really didn’t like it that there were so many fights again. They were tearing each other apart…

So many things changed… So many changes… Why couldn’t the impossible happen? He was going to hate himself for this… Not doing it…

_People can change. There’s a reason for hope._

_No, there isn’t._ Resigned. Angry. Disgusted. Sad?

_Now it’s all different._

_I want to give you everything._

_I will never lie to you…_

Not doing it…

Not… Doing… It…

 

~*~

 

“Hey,” Adam greeted Michael.

“Good morning Adam,” Michael replied. So he must be in a good mood today.

Adam quite prepared himself not to even frown if he didn’t get an answer for being polite… But if Michael was usually tense around his brother and now he bothered to acknowledge Adam’s presence it meant…

“Where’s Lucifer?” Thanks to a finally long night of undisturbed sleep Adam didn’t feel too upset about the lack of the Devil’s gloriously annoying presence.

Yet.

“Do I look like his babysitter to you?” Michael deadpanned.

Shit.

Adam surfaced from the fridge with a scowl. He was doing it too often, a few more days and anyone would take him for way over 21.

“But you’d know if he was about to start blowing shit up just for kicks right?”

Michael only quirked an eyebrow at that as a show of amusement then turned back to his heavy book.

“I would.”

He desperately wanted to tear at his own hair right now. There was a weak and not at all unsettling link between them but it was only enough that Adam got an irritating buzz behind his forehead whenever Michael summed his flood of thoughts into a few words that hid more than they gave away and suggested even more.

The longest sentence he probably managed to pull out of Heaven’s Greatest was about the book he read yesterday.

“Crime and Punishment. It has an interesting concept even though I am certain that Lucifer would find it way more fascinating.”

And ever since nothing more informative. But apparently Michael had developed a liking to Russian realists. He finished Adam’s small collection of Dostoyevsky and moved to War and Peace. At least he didn’t know about any book thicker than that.

“Okay. Whatever,” he scoffed and if he put his bowl to the counter a bit harsher than necessary no one complained. “But can I trust you to not destroy the house while I’m away?”

“It wasn’t my fault.”

The milk carton nearly fell victim of Adam’s nerves. He really had to work on it if he wanted to get into Meds School but two archangels with quite different personalities and enough issues for psychologists to feel in heaven or hell were driving him crazy.

He leant on the counter and hung his head for a few deep breaths before he said, “It was as much your fault as it was Lucifer’s. You know that he has issues with you dumping his ass away somewhere and you were the one who stood up to him too.”

Michael didn’t answer but a crack of tension clipped through his conscience.

“Come on, good leaders need to be able to acknowledge their mistakes.”

The archangel wasn’t really the type. But Adam at least knew he was right – Michael’s silence was usually a good indicator for that.

“But really. I’m going out with a few of my friends,” _because unlike someone I have social life_ , “and I don’t wanna come home for smouldering ashes. Tolstoy will keep you occupied so far I hope.” Michael sent him an unimpressed glance over the top of his book, but that was all he got. “Honestly. Fair warning: in case you destroy the house I’m gonna call my brothers and tell them to hunt your sorry ass down. I swear.”

Michael hummed and Adam nodded. The message had been passed on and the angel was actually amused at his behaviour. It entertained him on a certain level that here was a human who he might have liked and didn’t fear him.

With that solace in mind Adam took his bowl of cereal and plopped down in front of the TV to kill a few of his brain cells. He would be more worried if he had to leave Lucifer alone in the house for a day.

~*~


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Dean are working a case and Lucifer's helping along. Or at least this is how he calls it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so far from being satisfied with this chapter but I couldn't sit on it any further. :( The more research I do the more disappointed I get with my Lucifer.....  
> I hope you'll like it better!  
> (I'm full of new ideas but I seem to be unable to put them down in writing! What do I do? TTnTT)

**Dream of a Stairway to the Skies**

**chapter3**

**_But I know you’ll understand_ **

 

 

Sam was about to accept that regretting each and every decision ran in the family. Dean was the textbook example of running on guilt and he wasn’t doing much better either. But he suspected he had just made the biggest mistake of his life. Ever. Bigger than going on that hunt for their father, bigger than drinking all that demon blood, bigger than trusting Ruby, and even bigger than freeing Lucifer **and** saying yes to him all together. Wasn’t it saying something?

He won the task of research in the library. He liked it, it wasn’t that bad and it reminded him a bit of his assignments back at Stanford. He delighted in the feeling of dry and well-used paper turning between his fingers, the lingering smell of dust. He was even okay with the computers that might have seen WWII.

His problem was more like with the silence. There was supposed to be silence in a library, peace and calm so that everyone can concentrate on their own little research.

Sadly, it wasn’t an option for Sam.

“…disregard for, or violation of the rights of others. Well, check. Pervasive even. Also check… but I have to say I can argue this point. I respect your integrity. Nick’s too, but okay, you can say that I disrespect humanity’s consistent disbelief in predestination,” Lucifer mused from the seat next to Sam, drawing little ticks on the screen as he went through his list of Antisocial Personality Disorder.

 “History of crime. Definitely. Check. Impulsive and aggressive behaviour… Hmm, that can be argued as well, thoughts?”

Sam stubbornly kept his gaze on his own screen, pretending Lucifer wasn’t there. Most probably he wasn’t.

He had made a whole chain of mistakes that morning. Starting with giving in Lucifer’s persistent urging that he meant no harm and he could really prove it if Sam just let him. Like in real life not just in dreams. Sam was too kind hearted and believed in the opportunity of change too much and also needed some undisturbed sleep finally and he reluctantly gave in. Mistake No.1. It was really tiring to resist the Devil when he played all his charms even in dreams so sue him!

Then he made mistake No. 2 by calling Lucifer the King of Sociopath Angels about twenty minutes ago when he fought the firewall of the library and didn’t pay enough mind to keep his brain-mouth filter in control when it helped him break down the wall if he mumbled now and then under his breath.

He was not going to encourage him any further.

“Here I try to open to you in a mean of social interaction and you shut me out. That’s really mean Sammy,” Lucifer scolded. When Sam didn’t snap that only Dean was to call him Sammy he decided to move to the topic of Psychopathy because Wikipedia was useless and didn’t say anything for Sociopathy.

The Devil on Wikipedia. Sam was definitely losing his sanity.

“Antisocial behaviour, yes, checked. Though in my defence I was locked up. Alone. Had no one to interact with,” from the corner of his eyes Sam caught Lucifer shifting in his chair and pressing a finger thoughtfully to his lip.

“A diminished capacity for empathy or remorse and poor behavioural controls or fearless dominance. That’s a long one,” Sam wanted to just draw his gun and blow his own brains out because he was reading this article for the third time and he still had no idea what it was about. “Let’s move from the end. Fearless dominance. Leading the Apocalypse can match that, right? Poor behavioural control. Nah, I’m very good, right Sam?”

Like hell! Lucifer had absolutely no control over himself when he was bored and ignored. His narcissist personality just couldn’t take that.

“And with diminished capacity for empathy – I have to disagree. I have a high sense of empathy. It’s just limited. And not for humans. But I helped Lilith, it must count for something…”

 

~*~

 

Half an hour later Sam finally understood that the article he read was of absolutely no use in their case. By that time he should have been able to recite it by heart but he was afraid he would rather quote Lucifer’s self-analysis than how many houses had burnt down in the forties.

He closed the tab and just clicked on another article that was far more promising when the monitor went black. No warning signal, no led lamps glowing red or an unhealthy orange, it just died. He stared back at his own reflection, hands jerked away from the mouse and the keyboard eyes round and perplexed.

“Don’t look at me like that, it wasn’t me,” Lucifer snorted when Sam’s eyes snapped at him.

Sam’s gaze wandered to the Devil’s screen and it was only a black mirror with the reflection of the bookshelves from behind. No blond ex-archangel in them. That explained a few things…

With a groan Sam pulled to his feet and went to look for the librarian. It wasn’t the first time he had to look up death-cases the old way. Some direction always helped.

“Aaah, I know what you’re thinking Sam,” Lucifer followed him in tow of course. With absolutely no respect for personal space. Was it some kind of an angel thing? Figures. “You think that you are going crazy. Why can’t you just accept for facts that I’m back? Hmm? Of all the things you have seen why am I the one you deny?”

The lady was nice if Sam didn’t count how flustered she was because of the sudden electric short-out. She was still new and she only waved at the general direction of the history section and with an apology stammered she went to call the janitor.

Sam thanked her and headed to the back. It was a surprisingly big library.

“Has it ever occurred to you that the lack of reflection is because I don’t want everyone to see me?” Lucifer went on relentlessly, now sometimes showing at Sam’s elbow, peering up at him, while he stubbornly set his jaw and eyes on the labels on the side of the shelves. “Being invisible. Knock, knock, it’s not so difficult, any angel can pull it out.”

He had to bite down on his tongue hard to stop from asking, Then why can _I_ see you?

“I am an arch-angel. Or was. It really doesn’t matter now. I can definitely get you see me.” Lucifer spoke with a strange mixture of annoyance and amusement. “See? I have enough trouble with you like this, what if you didn’t even see me? Sensing my presence, you certainly can, wouldn’t that make things even worse?”

A shiver ran down Sam’s spine and his eyes rounded slightly as realization hit him in the face. Of course he sensed Lucifer being near him! Even at the diner in Utah, in his dreams, it wasn’t the usual chill of a ghost or just some random sick feeling. It rang deeper. Deep in his core.

“Thought you were the smarter one, come on Sam, don’t be so stubborn.”

Sam just clenched his teeth and turned with an irritated huff to line H.

Lucifer sulked in silence for only five minutes while Sam desperately tried to keep up ignoring him and not jump him with questions as of how in the nine circles of Hell could he feel Lucifer in Utah?! Okay, he still wasn’t entirely convinced that he wasn’t going mad, but even if he accepted that the Devil was in his tow, it still wasn’t a good idea to give in to his nagging. He was like a petulant child for God’s sake! What had he done to deserve Lucifer?

Right. Born a Winchester. Enough said.

Sam stared at the massive shelf of books and newspapers and articles collected since 1928. Great. Just great. What would he give for a functioning catalogue at the moment?

He took one book from around the sixties and flipped through it. No fire mentioned.

They were investigating a case of strange fires in a row. It could have been an arsonist as far as the police was concerned and they looked at the FBI badges suspiciously, but they were pretty sure it was a vengeful spirit. The houses were freshly renovated, and a devastating fire started by an electric short-out where the electronics were in perfect shape just the previous day seemed suspicious. Especially that the newest victim was a family (with absolute no connection to the previous vics). Daughter home for the holidays died – or maybe just disappeared – in the fire. Her parents tried to get to her, but her door just didn’t give way.

The lack of any connection was disturbing, hence Sam in the library and Dean running his rounds again at the scenes. Sam was a bit concerned if it was okay with Dean and burnt down family houses and his new jumpiness and nightmares, but his brother insisted he would be fine. He hated libraries much more.

Sam was going through another collection of articles when a thick book fell on the ground with a loud thud that nearly got him reach for his gun. As he looked up he was only met with Lucifer’s cheeky grin.

“I’d check these two pages,” he said emphatically and pointed at the book. The picture of a house on fire was more than enough proof that it didn’t fall by accident.

Sam glared at him viciously before leaning down to pick it up.

“I should drop things more often.” Came the voice from behind him all of a sudden. Sam jerked up to stand just to find the Devil grinning wickedly. “I like the view.”

He turned away, and honest to God from the corner of his eyes was searching for a surface where he could try if the angel sigil worked on archangels as well.

“A thank you would be nice,” Lucifer sighed melodramatically and leant against a shelf as well. “See? Who is the evil one now? You ignore me when I’m working so hard to help you. I could just watch you struggle, but instead I even point out which article you need. Just check the date!”

Despite himself Sam’s gaze snapped to the date. 1983.

“No way!” he couldn’t help it slip his mouth.

“Well…” Lucifer drawled like someone having fun. Then at the flick of his wrist other books fell to the ground opening at various pages showing articles about fires from different years.

It made absolutely no sense now.

Sam knelt down to take a better look. There were seven fires including the one from 1983, four from the next twenty years but those were just ordinary fires if Sam understood the crazy string of words flowing from Lucifer’s tongue while the next two happened within a year from 1994. The first a pair of electricians died in a fire because of a bad wire. While in the next one the building contractor died. Burnt to death within his own – that was bad, in his own safe-room. Totally not natural. But it still made no sense…

Those two fires could be connected…

His phone chose this time to go off.

“Hey Dean,” he picked up and just to be sure glanced at Lucifer. He was spectacularly bored out of his mind.

“Man, tell me ya got something, because it’s all sort of no-sense-crazy,” Dean said gruffly without so much as a greeting.

“Tell me about it,” Sam chuckled wryly. “You found something though?”

“Yeah, I did some digging around and found that the fire from last month,” Sam heard the distant ruffle of papers and Dean grunt and curse under his breath, “it was built on the building site of a house that burnt in 1994. Considered as cursed—“

“Because the contractor died next week in a fire.” Sam finished for him.

“How d’ya know?”

“I just found it in the news.”

“So what? Are we looking for – for what? Vengeful motherfuckers who can’t be burnt? Cursed object? Cursed site?”

“I don’t know, call it a hunch, but this seems more than a simple salt and burn job.”

“Yeah, this sleepy hollow’s like a bonfire.”

“So what, we got – uh, ghosts working with demons maybe?... Dean?”

Dean was disturbingly silent on the other end despite Sam’s flabbergasting idea.

“There’s also something strange, just to spice it,” Dean sounded close to hysterically amused, “Not at the scene that makes our situation all fucked up, but I found s–“

The line went into static and soon it was the dial ringing in Sam’s ear.

“What— Dean!” he snapped, in vain, he knew, but he was frustrated okay? It was never a good sign when the line broke just like that and— “What the Hell now, Lucifer?” he was so close to flipping out and a book falling heavy on top of his head wasn’t helping at all.

“Lo and behold, now he sees me!” Lucifer taunted with a melodramatic flick of his hand.

“Answer finally or get out of my hair!” Sam growled, but Lucifer just smirked lazily.

“But why would I do that?” he cooed but seeing as the hunter’s face darkened dangerously he rolled his eyes and pointed at the book that just freshly thudded to the floor. “Check that one. Death column.”

Sam frowned but did as he was told.

 _Survived Fire but not Ice –_ the short article said. _Steve Cohen, his brother, Carl and daughter, Sophie died in a car accident 12 th January 1987._

Immediately back deep in thought, Lucifer momentarily forgotten, he frowned. Sam leant over, settled in the middle of his little collection of fires and accidents. This name was familiar – they were the family whose house burnt down in 1983, just like Sam’s. Same year, same accident. It was a bit way too disturbing.

It was highly suspicious that she was one of the children like Sam, one of them destined to open the gates of Hell when time comes. But that was over, so it didn’t really make any connection to their case now. She died four years later, which meant that Azazel obviously didn’t come back from the dead to collect his newest favourite or whatever the suspicious coincidence meant…

It would still suggest demonic activity though, but they had no clue yet.

Sam tried to call Dean again and did his best not to let his eyebrows twitch in irritation when Lucifer started his lazy circles around him, making great show of his boredom.

Dean’s phone went to voicemail.

What did he find? What could he find that would overthrow their case? As much as Sam knew, it was still a ghost and he had no better theory despite the cold feeling deep in his guts. Dean found something. Something, something that didn’t click – s—

“Sulphur!” Sam gasped as his eyes flew open.

“Bingo.”

“You knew that?!” Sam turned abruptly to glare up at Lucifer.

“It really isn’t that hard to tell,” Lucifer turned up his nose.

Sam leapt to his feet and glowered before he threw out his hands then grabbed at his own hair. That was – that was bad. No one could ever blame Sam for not being full of theories and ideas, but the one that stuck him now wasn’t at all appealing.

“So, so what? Now demons want to restart what Azazel failed at?” He asked on a stifled tone, as he started pacing. “Pumping people with demon blood and getting them open the seals, freeing you to destroy the world again?”

Lucifer looked way too bemused for Sam’s irritation. “What?!”

“Looky there, now we’re talking,” he sneered happily but before Sam could flip out on him he cocked his head to the side and spoke again. “For your question, no. Or even if they were, the 66 seals deal was a one-time thing.”

“How do I know you’re not lying?”

“First, because I’d promised you. Second, because I’m here babysitting you instead of murdering people. Or looking for my dear brother so that we could kill each other.”

Sam groaned. “Okay, so let’s say I believe you –“

“Thank you!”

“But then we still have demons and a cursed building site. Why now? Why is there everything happening now and why does it look so much like a simple ghost-haunting case?” Sam thought out loud, but even that didn’t help. The timing was really perfect. Okay, that his suspicions thinned, though still didn’t cross out entirely that some delusional demons – because there just always were a few of them – thought it was a great chance to free Lucifer. He still must be better than Crowley’s cleansing. If Dean hadn’t found the sulphur – and most probably only by accident, they could have gone on without demons ever coming up.

Why? Why? And why now? Why are there new fires all of a sudden?

“It’s crazy,” he muttered as he paced about from one shelf to the other feeling Lucifer’s gaze hanging on him all the while. “It’s all types of crazy…”

On top of all? Lucifer wasn’t helpful. He was manipulative, maniac, obsessed with revenge and self-righteousness, he tortured Sam and Adam in Hell, he wanted to kill Dean and destroy the world. He wouldn’t help Sam solve a case, he wasn’t even out of the Cage probably. It was impossible –

Just like how he too was out –

“What did I say about such thought?—“ Lucifer was ready to step forward to physically haul Sam back from his inner maze of tormenting thoughts when a voice called out from the end of the row that got both of them frozen in place.

“Excuse me,” a man, the janitor asked, but unlike his tentative voice his posture was easy and he wasn’t far from smirking as his eyes flashed black.

Before Sam could react the man flicked his hand and dashed the hunter up against the wall of books. He hit his head hard and it was only a sharp flash of pain he felt as his guts churned up in the merciless fist of the demon before he blacked out. He wasn’t sure if it was the pain from his insides or the enraged scream in his skull that finally pushed him into unconsciousness.

 

~*~

 

Something brushed gently against his mind as Sam came slowly to consciousness. Something he associated with the rich taste of dark chocolate mousse and then earth and life. A melody maybe? But it was too deep, to intangible for that…

“Sam…” He knew the voice that cooed his name –

His eyes fluttered open cautiously and as he fought for the blobs of colours to form into shapes he registered agile fingers playing in his hair and that he was far too comfortable than to be simply lying on the hard floor of the library.

“Good morning sunshine.”

Sam came face to face with Lucifer smiling a soft mischievous smile down at him.

His head lay in Lucifer’s lap.

Lucifer was sitting on the worn carpet, legs crossed at the ankles and Sam’s head rested in his lap!

“Hey, easy there,” Lucifer chuckled as Sam struggled to his feet. He stumbled and bumped into the bookcase and nearly knocked it over but eventually just a bunch of books fell on the other side with thundering noise. Clutching a shelf he stared in horror at the holes in the massive wall of books.

“Don’t worry, we could be having sex and no one would care in this far corner,” Lucifer snickered and his grin grew even wider, his face ready to break in two when Sam’s flabbergasted gaze flicked at him.

For a second Sam only scowled and tried to get his head together, because damn his brain was swimming and that didn’t help that his glance caught on a body at the end of the row and Lucifer looked so unsettlingly normal as if he was sitting on a picnic –

A body at the end of the row?!

His head felt ready to burst at the moment.

“A demon,” he moaned on a rather gravelly tone that would have fitted Castiel better than him on his worst hungover morning.

“Yes,” Lucifer confirmed simply and slowly rose to his feet. He spared a glance at the burnt and mutilated corpse and drew a disgusted frown. A snap of fingers and it all turned into ash and dust.

Sam stared at the grey heap for a while. He needed some time and possibly painkillers to process all this.

“But there was a ghost,” he whined helplessly as if that could solve anything.

“Naw, not really we were just interrupted in the middle of the brainstorming,” Lucifer said, eyes lit up in amusement, then stepped up deep into Sam’s personal space, “Now there should only be a small bump…”

Taking advantage of Sam’s momentary stupor Lucifer’s agile fingers easily slid to the back of Sam’s head finding the hump, but instead of a blinding stab of pain the hunter only felt relief at the cold touch and his vision cleared finally. No ice-pack could make such wonders.

“See?” Lucifer drawled sweetly, “If I wanted to hurt you – which isn’t the case – I’d claim that you’re still in the Cage. With me. That this,” and he waved around them with a lazy hand, “isn’t real, and you’re still there, burning, and you could feel the flames licking you. But,” this one word was sharp enough to avert Sam from envisioning the scene too vividly, “you aren’t, and we are both back on good ol’ Earth…”

Sam tried to back away but he found that meanwhile the healing Lucifer subtly backed him up against the bookcase and there was nowhere to go. But before he could panic Lucifer leant very close to him and the purring voice in his ear was enough to make him swallow hard and forget every intention to run.

“You’ll see. I’m all helpful now.”

Their noses brushed and he could feel Lucifer’s lazy draws of breath chilly on his heated skin and his own lips were panting hard and fast but for his life he couldn’t say if it was from panic or something else.

The lazy draw of the edge of the Devil’s mouth said it was from something else.

“It’s all right Sam,” said Lucifer and stepped even closer – so impossibly closer and wrapped his cold arms around Sam. “I know you’ll understand.”

Sam just stood there frozen in surprise and the feel of the other’s tight hug around his back – the Devil clung to him as if he never wanted to let him go. And he didn’t mind. He couldn’t find it in himself at the moment to mind not even when the lightly stubbled cheek nuzzled at his neck, and especially not when Lucifer purred deep and low and so purely happy that it was very, very terrifying in a way. He couldn’t find it in himself to mind not even when his own arm slowly wound itself loosely around Lucifer’s waist.

Lucifer pressed even closer, and Sam suspected any closer would be only possible if the Devil squeezed a yes out of him, and he also would swear that the other was radiating happiness – and then pressed a small freezing kiss just under his jaw.

Then disappeared. Sam was standing in the library absolutely dumbstruck and totally lost.

They felt too solid for Sam’s desperate mind to try and feed himself that it wasn’t real. Because if it was only some kind of hallucination he’d better seek out a doctor because his imaginations were taking a very crazy and horrifying turn. And of course hallucinations didn’t leave the slight sting of stubble burn and a thin layer of frost on your neck.

Yet it didn’t make anything okay. Nothing was okay. He just didn’t know yet if it could ever get okay.

 

~*~

 

Adam had been watching Lucifer play around with the differently shaped pieces of Lucky Charm with a stupid grin on his face for the past five minutes. If it wasn’t the Devil, it wouldn’t be so unsettling. Adam would even call that expression deeply in love and so utterly fucked up yet super satisfied with himself at the same time, but it was Lucifer for crying out loud! He could have destroyed an animal shelter and would make the same face.

“So, umm, have you seen Michael lately?” he asked, because it was his job to keep an eye on both of them, and it was as good as anything to initiate small-talk.

“Nah,” Lucifer answered absently, totally unfazed in forming a heart from the cereal pieces. Like the real, throbbing in the chest heart with the artery and veins. “Why?”

“Just thinking. You two taking terms in disappearing and such,” Adam shrugged and pushed his bowl away. He wasn’t really that hungry. Dinner still had a chance. “And he’s been a bit jumpy. On his own way if you know what I mean.”

This was usually enough to get Lucifer’s attention and he’d perk up like a puppy at the mention of Michael acting odd – as much as Adam could tell of course but now? Lucifer only hummed.

“Man, you are so disgustingly in love!” he blurted.

“It’s great, isn’t it?” Lucifer looked up at him finally with a wide grin, and Adam would swear to God he had seen little hearts floating around his head.

“Gosh no! And if ever, anything happens I don’t want details! Or I might just forget to stop Michael from smiting your ass!”

He was so done with the archangels’ moodswings. Once Michael is all collected, calm and close to happy, let’s call it content and then he is all worked up and disappears. Then there’s Lucifer who’s moody on his good day and horror on two feet on a bad one, and now he had been switching from hour to hour depending if Michael was around, and now this love-smitten?

Adam could sense the end of the world drawing near.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I added Adam in the last minute but yeah...  
> We're solving the case in next chapter I swear!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucifer really wants his kiss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took me so so long to get this done, and I'm really sorry! I don't really feel happy with it, but I didn't have the nerves to sit it any longer.... ^^;
> 
> Please, enjoy :)

**Dream of a Stairway to the Skies**

**chapter4**

**_Stairway to the Skies_ **

 

Sam quickly decided that it was enough freaking out for the whole damn year – really, he should know better! – it was time for acceptance and then some damage-control. He gathered up the few books he deemed important and relevant and checked them out in a hurry while fumbling with his phone.

This time Dean answered. Sam felt a stone roll off his heart. Dean was all right though very tight-lipped and told Sam to hurry back to their motel room.

When he opened the door cautiously, still a bit under the effects of demons and archangels turning up and out of thin air on them, but to his relief he found the room only in a slight mess. The table was turned and one of its legs was missing and one wardrobe door barely hung on its hinges.

Dean had just changed out of his fed suit, shirt hanging wet and wrinkled on a chair with the throaty metallic smell of blood still faintly in the air under the peculiar taste of freezing cold water running for a good while.

“What’s happened here?” Sam asked wide-eyed and put the books on his night stand.

“Demon,” Dean answered gruffly as he rolled up the sleeves of his plaid shirt. “The son of a bitch must have followed me back. Cut the lights and all electric shit.”

Sam frowned, that was pretty similar to what had happened in the library. He just opened his mouth to ask his brother how he managed to survive and if he could get any information out of the demon – not that he was the ask-first shoot later type, but maybe; he was slowly changing after all – when he was interrupted by the familiar sound of fluttering wings. He looked up and found himself face to face with Castiel’s stern frown.

“The body has been taken care of,” said the angel. “Hello Sam.”

Castiel only spared a quick glance at Sam before his eyes refocused on Dean. For a second even Sam felt uncomfortable under the scrutiny of Cas’ gaze, he could only imagine how it felt to be on the receiving end of it. Dean must have felt a hole being burnt into his forehead because soon with an irritated twitch to his brows he raised his own eyes to meet Castiel’s.

There was that silent and hasty though surprisingly deep and very-very emotionally filled conversation between the two that always left Sam uncomfortable. How did they call it when they tried to communicate their worries with unwavering eyes? Sharing a profound bond? Something like that.

Sam cleared his throat.

“So this is how you survived and I’m not meeting you in a dark alley.” It would have been just one too many dead bodies for one day.

“Yeah,” Dean sighed and he looked a strange mixture of relieved and regretful that he was snapped out of his world-for-two he shared with Cas. “You had the knife after all.”

Sam nodded. He had, and he really wished he had left it at his brother.

He glanced over at Castiel, whose face hardened back from worrying friend to the rebellious angel of the lord who was currently fighting a civil war. “Don’t misunderstand me Cas, it’s really nice to see you finally, but… How did you find Dean?”

“He prayed.” Castiel answered levelling Sam with a look as if it was Earth’s most natural thing.

Before Sam could interject that Dean had been praying to him for the past few weeks they hadn’t seen sight of his dirty trench coat – of which he of course had no idea; Dean snorted in indignation and stated that he did _not_ pray to Cas. Because it was weakness and he was strong and macho and more than capable of taking care of himself. Sam wondered if it was an act for him or for Dean himself?

“You were in need of assistance,” Cas frowned with his little awkward head-tilt, but this time Dean refused to meet his searching eyes.

“Thanks.” he mumbled and rubbed a hand down his face. “And also for getting rid of the bastard. It would have been a bitch at broad daylight. Tell me ya got something useful in that pile, Sammy!”

From the corner of his eye Sam watched Castiel. The angel looked crest-fallen for a second but cautiously stepped out of the way so that Dean didn’t even have to brush the edge of his coat as he walked over to seize up the books Sam brought. The small hesitation in his brother’s step didn’t pass him. It was obvious how badly Dean wanted to clap Cas on the shoulder, like he used to so that he could pass his gratitude better if he was so clumsy with words; there was the barely noticeable twitch in his fingertips but he rather just curled them into a fist to fight the urge.

So things were still pretty messed up between them – Sam thought with a sad pang in his chest.

“If I’m not needed here anymore,” Castiel said and squared his shoulders, as if saying stubbornly that he was _not_ needed anymore, though some pale hopeful glimmer in his eyes spoke of other things, “I’d take my leave.”

He cast a long look at Dean, searching his face, but the older Winchester only gave him a quick glance and a nod.

“We’ll call you immediately as soon as we found something helpful in your war,” Sam said quickly before Cas could leave.

But his promise wasn’t enough to chase away the heart-breaking disappointment in those blue eyes.

“Thank you Sam.” Cas said with an expression akin to gratitude and a hint of sorrow, then in a flutter of wings the angel disappeared.

Really, since when was Sam the one who could read Cas so well?

Meanwhile Dean paid unlikely much attention to one of the article collections Sam brought back and didn’t even glance up just raised a questioning eyebrow when he cleared his throat.

“Since when do you let Cas leave without a flash of wit?”

Dean looked annoyed. “I already thanked him for saving my ass.”

“I hoped so. But Dean—“

“Do you really want to have a heart to heart right now or can we find out what’s lighting up this damn dirthole?”

Sam sighed and somehow refrained from rubbing his forehead. It was going to come back bite them in the ass pretty soon, he was so damn sure about it, but decided against commenting on it. He’ll really have to get Dean talk about his Castiel-issue, because a blind monk in Tibet could see that it was eating him up, but if it got him in a researching mood, Sam was willing to postpone playing psychologist a little longer.

~*~

The afternoon passed and the motel room grew heavy with tension and pent-up annoyance. They had spent the past hours digging through everything Sam gathered and Dean even dug into the Internet but they still couldn’t make heads or tails to this damn case. Sam’s questions still stood; why was the whole town full with mixed signs, ghosts and demons both? Since when did they work together? But most of all, why now? So many fires happened only around Christmas or in Australia in the summer. One fire each week for the past month, no survivors, only one person gone missing, no body found.

They tried to call Bobby but he was on a hunt – of course! They had to be just this damn lucky, so they were back on their own.

Dean’s resolve broke first. He slammed the laptop close and ignoring Sam’s annoyed frown he announced that he needed some fresh air and to stretch his legs.

Sam lasted barely two minutes longer. The muffled roar of the Impala’s engine just faded from his ears and he was on his feet pacing the room then deciding to wash his face, maybe, just maybe it would freshen him and there would be _something_. Not that they hadn’t been full of ideas, but the moment they spoke them out loud they just made a face and went back digging.

He stepped out of the bathroom and if he hadn’t been awake yet, he was fully now.

“What the Hell are you doing here?” he demanded with his gun pointing at Lucifer lunging on his bed.

“Hello to you too, Sam, it’s such a pleasure to see you again!” Lucifer said and cocked an unamused eyebrow at the gun. “Seriously?”

“You didn’t answer,” Sam sidestepped the inquiry, trying desperately to mask up his annoyance. Yes, it was pretty uncomfortable to meet a creature that doesn’t care if he’s shot.

“Came to check how you’re doing,” Lucifer shrugged and sat up on the bed and peered up at him curiously. It was even more unsettling if possible.

“Not good, and you’re really not helping. Dean can be back any time…” And wouldn’t it be just fabulous if he found Lucifer in their room?

“Ah, don’t worry, we’ve met already.”

“You what?!”

“We have already met,” repeated Lucifer and looked back at Sam evenly before a smirk cracked on his lips. “Oh, he didn’t tell?”

_Lies_. Lies and secrets again when they agreed that there will be no more?! Hadn’t the past year been enough trouble? When will Dean finally get it that while he’s preaching of trust and family and how it is his job to keep Sam safe it didn’t equal with keeping him in the dark! He was way past eight, and how could he hold out on Sam such important thing that the damn Devil was out of his goddamn cage where they had nearly gone through an Apocalypse to put him?

“Why do you always have to venture around the cage?” Lucifer tutted with a frown, “but just in his defence he probably thought he was going crazy—“

“When?” Sam interrupted him coldly.

“In Utah. The maggot had the nerves to zap me away.”

So this was the real reason why they had to leave in such haste. Back when his dreams started. Also when the fires accelerated. Hell opening up again?

“You don’t happen to have a hand in these fires, do you?”

“I’ve already told you Sam,” Lucifer cocked his head to the side tiredly. “Nothing at all.”

“It’s still a mystery how can you be out of the cage.” Sam folded his arms on his chest. That helped to keep his temper at bay.

“You got me here. I mean, I haven’t come up with a totally acceptable theory just yet,” Lucifer rolled his shoulders and rose to his feet as if it didn’t bother him at all. “No angels, no demons, and let me tell you I was as surprised as you are, but who cares, really, huh? It feels refreshing upstairs.” He grinned but Sam’s scowl only grew darker and harder and stepped away from the other’s hand. “What now? Does it run in the family? Let me tell you, you’re too stubborn, can’t let things go.”

“The devil rebuking sin,” Sam sneered under his breath.

Lucifer scoffed. “Yeah, well, Adam was only a tiny bit faster on the uptake.”

“Adam?”

“Did I stutter?”

“No, no!” Sam said quickly; he couldn’t help a new overwhelming flush of anxiety and relief mixed together with some hope that just overwrote everything going on in his head in a second, and he took a tentative step towards Lucifer. “Is he –? Is he all right?”

“Yes. Adam is all fine and dandy. We’re having nice chats. But I still have to convince him I’m not harassing you.” Sam was so relieved he didn’t even notice Lucifer inching closer. “He’s quite hospitable. Doesn’t remember the cage of course, as you aren’t supposed to either, but he at least doesn’t have a constant urge to scratch his walls.”

“But why? How can that be?” Sam asked and prayed Lucifer wouldn’t crack a malicious grin and reveal it was just another way of torture.

_Please let Adam be all right!_

“He’s a nice kid who doesn’t want to kill me every damn time I want to talk to him.” Lucifer said, his voice gentle with the slight twitch of a smile. He reached out and ran one fingertip along Sam’s jawline, tilting his head so that they were looking eye to eye. “Relax, Sam, your brother is good. He’s going to college, and if Dean also leaves me alone Adam won’t try to lecture me for my manners.”

“I don’t even want to know.” Sam managed breathlessly, too mesmerized by the deep, never ending swirl of blue of Lucifer’s eyes. He could drown in them and he wouldn’t mind being dragged deeper and deeper until there were no troubles, no world to be saved all the time, no more secrets and lies and most of all no guilt… Yes, that would be nice…

Lucifer’s palm rested on his biceps, a cool melting touch on his heated skin, a gracious kiss of winter in the heat.

Sam only knew he had to tear himself out of this. He couldn’t name why, he couldn’t reason it, as much as he couldn’t tell why he wanted so desperately to stay, but a figure from the past grabbed him and pulled. He stumbled back and stared at the slowly wavering smile on Lucifer’s face still half-stunned.

“What— what was that?”

“Your soul is drawn to me, Sam, it was born with you,” Lucifer said and the situation reminded Sam way too much of their very first meeting in that dream, where he learnt that he was meant to be the archangel’s true vessel. Lucifer stood calm and so sure of himself, only his vessel restricting his presence boiling it down to a human form where he would be tall and majestic and unfathomable to mortal sight, but instead here he was talking to Sam, gentle and understanding and with a small glimmer of sadness whenever he looked at him, and what he saw was his wounded soul. A very naked and very ashamed soul that it was so needy, that it couldn’t withhold the enticing lure of the most beautiful of all, like a moth can’t say no to the flame.

Sam clenched his teeth in defiance. He had heard it several times, but he was a Winchester! Their middle name was Defying-Fate so why should he start caring now?

“It’s not something to be upset about. I don’t want another Apocalypse, it only brings pain and suffering, and what is the point? You’d only hate me for it. Nobody needs that. I have always been honest with you, believe me now too.”

Sam hung his head so that his hair could shelter the vulnerable, broken look on his face. He wouldn’t freak out now. Even if Lucifer didn’t, he did believe in change. Why couldn’t…? Why was he always the one who wanted to believe until he was stabbed in the back?

Maybe Lucifer would at least have the decency to stab him in the heart when the time came.

He jolted when he felt fingertips thick with power and electricity press at his chin tilting his head so that a kiss could be pressed to his cheek.

“You know I’ll demand my _real_ kiss soon, right?” Lucifer asked huskily and the tips of his tongue flickered out to lick Sam just where he had been kissed.

With that he was gone again.

~*~

After Dean returned they still had nothing apart from Sam being ready to burst a nerve that Dean had lied to him. Again. He had to remind himself to breathe slow and deep to keep his calm and not bite his brother’s head off.

If Dean dug up most of the grave of those two ex-electricians, Sam only shrugged. He deserved it. And more.

But of course it wasn’t their lucky case, just as Sam’d expected. The bones were already salted and burnt, they only found some chunk of their coffins that somehow survived the fire.

Back to square one, they dragged themselves back to the motel room where Dean’s first thing to do was to chug down at least one fifth of his JD.

“What?” he asked gruffly, voice even thicker by the burn in his throat and fixed his glare at Sam.

“You shouldn’t drink this much on a case.” Sam frowned.

“What are you, my nanny or something?”

“It’s not healthy.”

“Fuck off Sammy—“

“You know what else?” Sam went on stubbornly tilting his chin and squaring his shoulders, “Whenever you pick up drinking again it just gets worse! It’s a clear indication that you’re hiding something from me, and don’t make me remind you where your damn lies had gotten us so far!”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Dean asked sharply and in his flashing eyes there was no sign of the dulling effect of alcohol.

No.

They didn’t need a fight on top of everything. They still had nothing, and were both tired. No need to get at each other’s throat.

Sam gritted his teeth and clenched his eyes shut and sucked a deep breath through his nose in an attempt to cool his temper. Dean will back off if—

“Is it because of Cas?”

The change in Dean was spectacular. The challenge in his posture melted away in a blink and he shut off, like huge iron gates slamming down.

“No, Nanny Sam, it’s not about Cas,” Dean snarled and slammed the whiskey bottle down on the table. “Your turn for the coffee run,” he tossed over his shoulder before he snatched a towel and stomped off to the bathroom.

Fresh air. Fresh air would help.

~*~

“So get this,” Dean greeted him a bit tightly; Sam barely had time to put in the door behind himself. They really should stop communicating like this. “Biff Turner’s house, out in the middle of nowhere only burnt down half-ways three weeks ago. Officials deemed it dangerous, but a few kids decided it’s a good idea to dare each other to go there.”

Dean peered up at him expectantly.

Sam put the container of their dinner at 3 am. on the table and stepped up behind his brother to catch a glimpse of the articles over his shoulder.

“And?” he prodded just as tightly and kept on scanning in the text.

“One kid set fire at school next week.”

“Cursed maybe?”

“Not sure. He claimed that he didn’t remember shit after he fell from a beam. Darkness and then that’s it.”

“Dude, this kid was hospitalized!” His whole medical record wasn’t in the papers but it included broken vertebral and shoulder, and all in all a miracle that he could move just a few hours ago before he collapsed just after he set fire in a trashcan at the canteen.

“And guess what!” Dean clicked on another window and a site of students came up. Yearbook. “Rob Garner was classmates with Amanda.”

The girl who just disappeared.

Sam frowned and reaching over Dean’s shoulder he opened up another tab to search Biff Turner. The name rang a bell; the memory was just too fuzzy yet to make the connections.

“Fuck,” he muttered as he straightened up.

“What?”

“This Biff guy,” Sam pointed at the article showing both the man and his half-burnt home. “He’s the janitor that attacked me at the library just today.”

Dean cursed and on auto-pilot snatched his Jack and took a huge gulp. Sam only took it out of his hand to get his own go.

“… So, theory?”

~*~

The ghosts that should have been responsible for the kills were already taken care of. However, the fires suspiciously copied the possible method how a spirit going rampant could happen. And the sudden demon-flood in town would be too much of a coincidence. So they reached the conclusion that these demons, because there must have been more, must get off on setting fire to different places and were smart enough to disguise their actions as a vengeful spirit’s raging. It was quite fitting until you ventured into the cemetery digging up graves.

Sam was just glad that he kept his first freaked-out theory of demons walking in Azazel’s path and recruiting people to open up Hell’s gates yet again. That would just add another load of frustration between him and Dean that quite probably would have split reality in half.

The case seemed too much as it was anyways.

Birds were already awake singing to urge the sun to rise by the time they arrived at Biff Turner’s house which they suspected to be the demons’ nest. They weren’t mistaken. Creeping in the shady corridors Sam met two of them, and one was kind enough to enlighten him that his other eerie hunch that brought up Azazel’s yellow eyes in his mind wasn’t entirely fictitious. She used to help Azazel in his recruiting mission and somehow managed to get away from Lucifer’s purge.

The demon was so chatty only because she had Sam up against a wall and was too busy taunting to realize Dean was coming up at her from behind. However she was lucid enough to leave her host just before the angel blade pierced through her chest.

For an ever-lasting moment Sam just stared at the lifeless body that fell to the ground like a sack of bricks, bleeding out and staring into the blue with empty eyes. It was a human Dean just killed – in shock he also forgot that just a second ago he was struggling to breathe. Dean’s blade must have caught the last flicker of black smoke of the demon, but he was too late. She was damaged – probably – hopefully – but she got away and a human died. A woman, a wife, a mother, who knew? She was no one to them, but she was a person –!

“Dude,” Dean grabbed at his arm. “Come on!”

Sam felt the tension building up inside. He could breathe now without restraints, but he just gulped the air that was soon bursting his chest, the air hot and heavy and tasted like bitter salty blood that pooled at their feet.

“Dean! You just killed that woman!”

“I saved your freaking life Sam!”

“They are people! We should be saving them and not killing them!”

“We’re killing demons!”

“Along with their hosts!”

The next demon caught them in the middle of this argument.

Dean was ready to launch at her – it was wearing Amanda, but Sam was quicker. He shoved Dean to the side – it was a foolhardy move, but he couldn’t think at that time. His brother stammered to the side, missing his target by a good foot, and it was enough for her to slam Dean through the racks until his back collided heavily with the opposite wall of the room.

The malevolent smirk that curled her lips gave Sam enough time to knock her out, draw a devil’s trap and tie her up for the exorcism.

There will be no more deaths that morning.

~*~

He had finally nodded off. Most probably. A tiny sensible voice at the very back of his head whispered that he barely had any idea how he’d got sitting on his bed, perched up against a headboard and a pillow that was far more comfortable than any motel room he’d ever come across. Not to mention the floor stretched out to mend into crackly pavement and then into grass with absolutely no walls. Only his bed and the dark green ground and the star-dusted heavens above.

And Lucifer.

The newest constant inhabitant of his dreams.

Except for this time he was quiet. After a few minutes of intense arguing when Sam snapped at him to shut his mouth and leave him alone if he really wanted to prove that he’d do anything for Sam. Lucifer for his part pouted and sulked but as Sam’s scowl didn’t ease off, he shrugged and started picking stars off the sky collecting the fiery balls in his palm as one pecked cherries from a tree.

Sam sighed. He wouldn’t be surprised if a dark cloud appeared over his head and would give him a merciless dull grey shower.

The hunt was a disaster. Dean got injured, and only the adrenaline cruising in his veins spared him some pain when Sam jerked back his dislocated shoulder, and due to the concussion it was a miracle that he could help Sam through the exorcism ritual. In the end they succeeded, but only barely. Amanda was strong and probably made it until the ambulance arrived for her, but Sam’s heart was heavy as he dragged Dean’s half-conscious body to the Impala to drive back to their room. The memory of the dead woman was just the icing on the cake.

It made him think about Meg – not the demon, but the girl they couldn’t save, whose spirit accused him for trusting Ruby, for using his powers, that he should have known better—

He should have. But he was saving people! He was using the power he just couldn’t get rid of for good! With a thought he could exorcise demons, not just banishing them back to Hell, but killing them without a drop of blood being shed! He used to be strong, powerful, commanding.

He really wished he had those powers.

Ever since he realized this he couldn’t look Dean in the eye, and when it hit him like a freight train he slammed on the brakes and Dean would have killed him with his glare but he was too out of it to have much heat in his scowl. But there was nothing to deny it. Sam felt disgusted with himself and wanted nothing but to run away to the end of the world where no one could find him, where there was no one to hold him to account for such blasphemous wishes, _but he could have stopped all of it!_

Dean wouldn’t have been hurt, and the poor girl would be safe as well, the demon couldn’t have had the time to tear her insides open while they tried desperately to drag it out of her—

He sighed. Again. But the weight didn’t lift off his chest. It was still heavy with guilt and remorse and hurt. He wondered how can someone hang on their sanity intact with such disturbing thoughts that just couldn’t be shared? Maybe they just don’t? Going crazy seemed a valid enough option…

His gaze wandered to Lucifer. He seemed total aware of his surroundings and what he was doing, embracing and twisting his motives so that they would fit his intentions.

And yet, here he was, off the train of madness and destruction, gathering stars now lining them up along the length of his arm, so childish and full of innocent light. He had been following Sam around in his dreams, and no matter how sceptical he was, Lucifer was relentless in his mission to convince him that he was of no harm.

For a moment it wasn’t that hard to believe. Lucifer looked oh so far from the Devil on the battlefield of Armageddon! Weak, though he was not.

Lucifer gathered all the stars in his palms gazing at the colourful swirl of light longing and thoughtful, then he clapped his hands together and was enveloped in the bright glimmering mist of stardust. His skin seemed dark like the sky under the glitter of silver and his hands were like the ocean of stars, millions on one patch of night.

Maybe he just imagined things, but Sam heard the soft flutter of wings and even though he saw no feathers there was a gentle breeze that scoured through his dream world and it picked the stardust on its back, carrying it higher up in a rigged swirl –

Until Sam recognized with a gasp that Lucifer painted a stairway to the sky.

The Morning Star grinned, satisfied and with a spring to his steps walked up to perch on his make-shift piece of art.

“Pretty, don’t you think?” he asked as he settled comfortably, weaving his silver-dusty fingers together under his chin, and from under heavy lashes looked at Sam.

Sam nodded mesmerized and stared back.

After a long while of searching each other’s minds Lucifer cocked his head to the side.

“Is there something you’d like to ask me Sam?” he purred.

Quickly averting his gaze Sam swallowed hard. He was so awestruck he absolutely forgot the idea that just crossed his mind. He was so tired of fighting with Dean, and he really didn’t want to say things he’d regret later. Even though it was highly inevitable with Dean’s injury, the pain and that now he won’t be able to drive and that usually put his brother in the vicious circle of thoughts that he was losing control and that made him even more snappish, then there was only the matter of the moment when Sam would snap finally.

“You’re an angel…” he started, his voice weak with insecurity.

“Amazing observation, Sherlock.”

“Could you heal Dean?”

To his greatest surprise there was no sight of malice or gloating in Lucifer’s eyes at his idea. It was more like satisfaction, he looked definitely smug. Which was even worse if possible.

“I could,” Lucifer drawled and grinned over his interlaced fingers. “But only for a prize.”

“If you think—“

“No, no, nothing like that,” Lucifer interjected before Sam could get worked up enough to jolt awake. “Your soul already yearns for me, and I’m not a demon as you so cleverly stated before… Remember what I’ve just told you?”

Sam only stared back at him blankly.

Lucifer rolled his eyes. “It included you and me and a kiss,” he tapped a finger to his lips leaving a glimmering spot of star dust there, “right here.”

Oh for the love of—!

Sam groaned but gathered his limbs to stand and walk the few steps that separated him and Lucifer. The bastard settled so high on his stairway that he was just on the right level for Sam to kiss him.

Another groan tore from his throat as he nervously edged closer to the Devil. It didn’t seem such a good idea anymore. Really, what was the guarantee that Lucifer would heal Dean and wouldn’t try something funny? He should know best how risky it was giving kisses carelessly in supernatural circles.

“You promise to heal Dean if I kiss you?” he asked, and bristled as he realized how broken he sounded. And again there was the mesmerizing pull in his core that drove him closer and closer until they were breathing the same air, cold and hot mingling, making his head feel heavy and disoriented—

“I swear.”

Sam gulped, put all his frustration in a bloody curse and leant in to kiss Lucifer on the lips.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this turned out pretty long. It's a monster, but I really had to do it and couldn't pick it in two...  
> I don't know if I should say Sorry, or just to Enjoy!... Pick what suits you best. :)

**Dream of a Stairway to the Skies**

**chapter 5**

**_One thing still remains_ **

****

Kissing Lucifer was one of those very rare things Sam had no actual word to describe. It was just too much, too good and too wrong, and all in all too perfect and too unsettling for his brain to even try to keep track of all the things passing through in a flash so it decided to shut down all senses.

He was filled with life, and he felt bursting with the energy of all those fallen stars scattered in that tiny spot of glimmering myriad of colours on Lucifer’s lips. They were now moving on his, wet and smooth and so _good_ , smearing ashes, leaving crunching crumbs of fiery balls of eternity. Lucifer licked those morsels away to gather them on the double tip of his tongue so that next he could run them along the seam of Sam’s mouth teasing for his consent to enter.

Sam would have cursed if his dazed mind could find just one sensible word but the taste of infinity, and thrumming warm blood that was pure and red and salty with the clear essence of life that could not and would not compare to the disgusting thick slide of demon blood, and the sharp contrast of Lucifer’s cold and hard body made him dizzy and needy. He opened up and let Lucifer push the tiny broken shards of creation into his mouth, deep down until his tongue mapped out the whole cavern.

He made sure that he was thorough and covered each and every inch of Sam’s mouth with his artwork.

A feeling made Sam shudder that if that tiny desperate and pleased sound would rip out of him he would breathe stardust back into Lucifer’s mouth, and if he just opened his mouth wide enough he could see a whole universe down his throat in a mirror.

Eventually Lucifer broke their kiss and pulled back, just barely, the cool radiance of his wet lips still lingered on Sam’s but still – he felt cold and lonely and abandoned. He chased after Lucifer’s retreating tongue with his own, because as bad as the idea seemed before he couldn’t imagine how he was going to get by without this searing bright light that mended all the fractures on his soul.

Lucifer chuckled, deep and raw in the back of his throat and nuzzled Sam’s neck with his nose. When a tiny mewl finally escaped the hunter Lucifer just chuckled again and proceeded to cover Sam’s neck in patches of the star-dusted sky.

He gently sucked a galaxy in the column of his throat and Sam had to grab hold of the Devil’s shoulders, because even his knee on the stairway couldn’t keep him upright anymore.

“It wasn’t that bad, now, was it?” Lucifer purred into his ear at the end of the fragment of the Milky-way.

“Don’t get too full of yourself,” Sam managed but knew better than to meet Lucifer’s mirth-filled blown eyes.

~*~

For the first time in weeks Sam woke slowly with a nice and warm buzz spreading in him. There was no sore muscle after their fight and sleeping half sitting half draped over a flimsy kitchen chair, no aching ribs, no pain in his throat where he could still feel the unsavoury touch of the demon’s power as she tried to choke him.

He felt reborn. New and afresh – even if he only nodded off for a few minutes.

On the bed opposite of him Dean snored softly, spread out on his stomach, his once injured arm twisted and tucked under his pillow.

Sam smiled. He didn’t want to, he honest to God wanted to devote as much time as he had while they got back on the road thinking and evaluating what he had done in his dream, but he just _couldn’t_ care. For once in his cursed life he felt light and clean, even the guilt was gone, he couldn’t pull up any memory that should dampen his good mood. He deserved these few hours – he reasoned. There will always be time for remorse.

Barely restraining himself from whistling a happy little tune Sam scribbled a short note to Dean that he was taking the Impala for a ride and with a spring to his steps he left the room to enjoy his freedom.

~*~

His good mood that survived him discovering the highly-suspicious hickeys on his neck – he was going to tear Lucifer another one! – evaporated in an instant when he spotted police-cars with their flare flashing red and blue – just in front of their motel room! And just as he contemplated stopping or fleeing he spotted a scene investigation team leaving.

What the hell’s happened?!

With his heart beating in his throat he got out of the Impala, keeping the keys in his hand just in case, and walked up to an officer. He didn’t even have to mime being worried.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” he addressed him, who looked up at him with a frown. “What – what is this hustle all about?”

He looked him up and down and took a sip of his coffee before he answered him.

“It’s none of your business, sir,” he said.

“I’m afraid it is.” Sam insisted and was going through his options weather it was a good idea to pull the FBI card in this situation.

“Are you staying here?” the officer asked then casually but there was a flash in his eyes that Sam nearly missed, but it set all his alarms off.

Had he been seen around much?

“No,” he said slowly, “I came around yesterday but there was no vacancy. Thought I’d try again.”

“You picked one bad mornin’ for that,” the man chuckled dryly and waved in the direction of the open motel room with his cup. Their room to be exact. “There won’t be any for a while. Found a dead body just on this doorstep, took the guy in. You should look for another motel.”

The officer’s voice rang with the sense of finality that should never be argued, and Sam, too, found it better to just leave it. His head felt dizzy anyway.

He drove off in a daze, he only stopped outside town. His hands were shaking slightly as he took them off the wheel. This was just so not good. It had been quite a while since they had to bust each other out of custody, but this one came bad. A dead body? What the Hell?

If only he knew what Dean was charged with! Murder – most probably.

He got out of the Impala and started pacing along her until it just worked up his nerves even more and he had to stop, lean on her fore-body and just breathe.

A dead body. They just finished off the demon nest, there could not be other supernatural beings. How could _anything_ know where they were…

“ _Lucifer_ ,” he groaned.

You didn’t know what happened and who’s responsible for it? The Devil did it.

“You called?” Lucifer asked way too cheerful lounging next to Sam, feet propped up on the bumper of the car.

~*~

Dean rested his forehead on his hands. At least he wasn’t handcuffed yet. It must mean something good…?

It was really way too early for him to deal with police officers without coffee just after two or some hours of sleep. He needed his four hours of shut-eye damn it!

A steaming paper cup of shitty coffee was placed in front of him. Okay, he was grateful for any kind of caffeine so sue him! No, they might just do that, rather don’t. Just ignore him. Yeah, that’s better.

The sheriff – who reminded him way too much of Jody Mills – sat down across from him with a file in front of her.

“Are you feeling better?” she asked him but without any trace of empathy in her voice. It was morning for her too obviously.

“More human,” Dean answered and tried with his usual charming, I-don’t-give-a-fuck smile. It didn’t affect her of course.

“That’s good,” she said and opened the folder to push it in front of him with an expectant look on her face. “Maybe then you could explain what this is.”

Dean looked at the photos and his face crumbled up. He had seen some serious shit, and honestly it wasn’t even close to the worst in his line of work, so the grimace was more of some old and twisted bitter anger than disgust over the burnt and shrunken body. There were also close ups of his? her? scorched face, nothing but the mummied taut black skin on the skull, and teeth, torn and just this side of tangible clothing, some ring on the bone-thin finger… It brought up memories. Bad and old memories.

“Seems like a very unfortunate fellow,” Dean said glancing up at the sheriff.

She wasn’t impressed. “Do you have any idea what was Mr. Drimmer doing in front of your motel room?”

“Mr. Drummer?”

“Very funny.”

“No, seriously. I have no idea who this dude is. It’s really sad what’s happened to him, but that’s all I have to do with him.”

He was dragged out of bed by policemen breaking down his door and literally dragging him out of the room, he was so lucky he at least changed his clothes yesterday before he planted face-first in dream-land, the blood would have been a pain in the ass to explain, and now they want to accuse him of this? No fucking way!

“Look,” he interrupted Sheriff Cronmay, who made it her mission to cuff him up. “Logically thinking, if I killed a guy, and let’s say burn him to death – just one random man, I have never even damn seen, I would leave him wherever. Why would I drag him to my doorstep and leave him out there for the world to see?”

“This is exactly what I want to find out.”

Dean gritted his teeth. What was it with him and authorities? He didn’t have a trustworthy face or what? Sam. People always believed Sam more.

“I want to talk to my lawyer.”

“Mr. Ford, if you’re innocent there’s no need for that.”

Dean could barely swallow the scoff at that. Look who’s talking of innocence? So he schooled his features just to have a thin layer of cheeky arrogance, weaved his fingers and repeated himself.

“I want to talk to my lawyer.”

~*~

Sam was in the middle of tearing Lucifer a new one – he really only could blame himself that he didn’t leave when Sam gave him the chance – when his phone went off.

“Hallo?”

“Hello, this is Sheriff Rose Cronmay from Warren, Indiana,” the scratchy voice of a woman spoke on the other end, “am I talking to Mr.  Hamill?”

Sam took a deep breath through his nose. “Yes, yes that’s me. How can I help you?”

“We are investigating a murder case here, and your client, Mr. Ford is one of our possible suspects but he desperately wants to talk to you first.”

“Oh, I see,” Sam could breathe a bit easier now. He had a handhold finally. “Could you… No, wait, I’m just in town,” Fuck, they would probably need a cover-story for such coincidence. “I can go to the station and we could sort things out in person.”

There was a short pause from the sheriff, meanwhile Sam’s glare zeroed in on Lucifer.

“Okay, that might make things easier,” the sheriff agreed eventually and told him exactly where he should go then hung up.

Sam was pretty far from happy with the situation, but now at least he knew that he had to play lawyer. Hell, Dean would have made good use of him if he could actually get to finish Stanford.

So now they just needed a cover story. Why didn’t they have a standard one for burnt run-away demon corpses? Which Dean probably didn’t know yet… No, not that important. Cover story. He really hoped they questioned Dean about it still before he gets there.

His options weren’t all that appealing.

“What?” Lucifer asked, and he had the nerves to sound offended!

“It’s all your fault.” Sam glowered.

“Haven’t I heard this record three times the past half an hour?”

“No. It is your fault, and you should make it right.”

“It’s not my duty to do anything,” Lucifer pouted. “I’m the hero here, Sam. I caught your demon, and now I deserve my reward.”

“You don’t deserve anything! You got my brother in custody—“

“Serves him right.”

“No. You get him out.”

“Do you seriously expect me to snap my fingers and magic him out? Highly suspicious, let me tell you.”

“Because a smouldering body on the threshold isn’t.” Sam groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. Just because Lucifer was the craziest feline in the entire universe who didn’t bring dead birds or mice to your doorstep but burnt demons… “Listen, I need a cover story about what I’m doing here just at the same time with Dean. They probably question him, and I need to tell the exact same story. I want you to eavesdrop in on that.”

“Oooh. Smart.” Lucifer grinned then his eyes lit up with mischief. “But what says I could actually do that?”

Sam only grabbed the lapels of Lucifer’s shirt, pulled him up just enough to show he wasn’t totally wrapped around the Devil’s little finger as much as he hoped, and smashed their lips together. Lucifer was caught by surprise, his eyes rounded and bright just before his pupils blew out and were swallowed with the soft gleam of silvery-gold light. He tilted his head and opened his mouth willing and demanding as he grabbed for Sam’s shoulders. Sam only dipped his tongue into the other’s mouth but before Lucifer’s could slide against his, he tore away and let Lucifer fall back in his seat on the front of the car.

“Good enough answer?” Sam asked with a cocky smirk.

Lucifer only stared at him for a moment, totally debauched and swoon off his ass before a wide, devious grin made it to his face.

“The best.”

~*~

Sam rather didn’t think about how many ways Dean could prepare in an instant if he saw that Lucifer rode shotgun in his Baby, but he was more concerned now watching the roads and listening to Lucifer narrating everything that happened in the interrogation room.

“Oh, hey you were caught arguing by the owner!” Lucifer said, cheerful. “Young Skywalker, these anger issues will harm you soon.”

“Stick to the important stuff.” Sam snapped.

“You’re just no fun at all… You wanted to buy the Impala. Big Bro changed his mind, you got upset because you’ve already paid most of the price. That makes me wonder, if the Squirrel bites the dust, do you get his car?”

Sam aggressively kept silent at that. Lucifer sighed and kept on reporting.

Lawyer, good friends too, they were in Warren to make the deal, both of them travelling through, just stopping by. Yes, he could do that.

~*~

Eventually it turned out that people tended to trust Sam more, even without the suit. He remembered enough from college to pull off the lawyer play, and sounded coherent and sensible enough that the officers finally got it that Dean wasn’t so stupid to burn someone – and really? How could he burn him from the insides? Make him drink gasoline and set fire to it still from the bottle? – and then leave the body in front of his room.

They didn’t know anyone here, they had no enemies and it was just plainly cruel and inhuman to kill a man.

It took most of their day, but along with the Amanda and the abandoned other dead bodies just convinced the police that Dean was no real suspect.

It left them grumpy and hungry, and Sam was only happy that Lucifer didn’t greet them leaning against the Impala waving at them with that cheeky grin.

Already on the road, Dean said, “You know that it’s highly suspicious though.”

Sam glanced at his brother. “What do you mean?”

“That corpse,” Dean said, his eyes fixed on the asphalt. “He looked as if he was roasted by an angel… Like Anna when Michael burnt her.”

“Dean, you know there’s no archangel on Earth, right? Only Raphael and he couldn’t find us.”

“Yeah, I know, but then who?”

If they had met before, Dean probably gave Lucifer’s return a chance in his theory. Sam didn’t want to think about that. He wasn’t happy about the lie – he was damn disappointed and angry! – but it seemed to be the safest option that both of them stayed in denial for the longest possible.

“Maybe it was Cas.”

“Cas?” Dean’s eyes snapped at him. “Seriously dude?”

“Well, do you know any better?” Sam asked back. “Remember, there was a demon, who got away yesterday. Maybe he needed some cut from the civil war and went for some demon hunting.”

“But why leave the corpse in front of our door?” Dean grumbled.

“Maybe to teach you a lesson? To freak you out? You know, you’ve been treating him like shit recently. It served you just right. Get reminded that, after all, he’s an Angel of the Lord.”

“I’ll still hand him his ass for this next time we meet.”

“Sure.”

“One freaking Angel of the freaking Lord.” Dean grumbled and the topic was closed on his end.

~*~

It was a minor pain in the ass though to handle Dean when they finally were an hour away from Warren.

He apparently had no recollection of his intimacy with a line of racks and then a massive wall the other day. However, it didn’t stop Dean from teasing his brother about the hickey on his throat until Sam finally came up with a sort of acceptable explanation that didn’t involve dreams and the Devil and their little deal and the kiss.

Wow, listed like this it sounded pretty bad. Just as bad as a demon deal would. Not to mention that Lucifer was the textbook example of obsessed when it came to Sam and his soul.

Crap. He would have to have a few words with Lucifer about that too later. But now he didn’t want to see sight of him, especially that he had to make up with Dean’s teasing for finally getting laid, and how unfair it was that he still let him sleep through his little outing at the bar. And if he just woke him up he wouldn’t be escorted to the friendly chat with Sheriff Cronmay.

No, Lucifer wasn’t lunging on the backseat singing along to Stairway to Heaven.

Denial. Greatest perk of being a Winchester; the inherited and perfected ability to deny the obvious.

~*~

A quick search on the web and some tuning in to the police radio ensured them that they were now totally free and their disappearance wouldn’t get them on the interstate warrant or caption list.

The medics found Amanda, she was in hospital, recovering, the police had no lead, and they were about to start a hunt for some psychotic drug dealers slash pyromaniacs. Whatever suited them. They were off the hook and gave a girl back to her parents.

Now that it came to family. He still had an issue they needed to tackle. He only prayed Lucifer would shut up for a second (or much better, get lost!) and that Dean would get the news just half as good as Sam did.

 “So now that we stopped those bitches from setting a huge-ass bonfire, what’s the news?” Dean asked as he slipped into the booth across from him.

Sam glanced up at Dean, only briefly so that his nerves wouldn’t show.

“Well, Adam’s back and alive and is doing pretty well.” Sam said and tried very hard not to burst out laughing. After he had got over his own first initial shock and burst of anger and doubt and another load of query it was quite fun watching his brother take in the news. If one didn’t count that Dean just didn’t spit his coffee on him.

“What?” he sputtered. “How the hell do you know that?”

“I was doing some research, to check if the diner’s not going to be torn down in an ambush,” Sam started to explain and he pressed with his what-you-deliberately-never-do bitchface, which Dean could totally ignore by now, “and was going through some news from around Minnesota. As a break.” Dean only scoffed at him. “They just started this new column in the local papers of y’know _people we are proud of_ stuff. And he was in there.”

Dean’s owlish eyes narrowed quickly in suspicion.

“It’s totally legit,” he hurried to explain before his brother would build up his temper, “students, who got accepted to college. Adam just got a chance probably to go on with his life where he had to give up. Everything’s normal, no word about his disappearance or anything.”

Dean’s frown only deepened. “You know it gets more and more suspicious the better you make it sound.”

“Come on, why can’t everything be ok just this once?”

“Let’s see. Maybe because he was in the same fucking Cage as the Devil and Michael? How the hell did he get out?”

“You sound like you aren’t happy about it.”

“Fuck you, Sam! Of course I am happy! He’s family and you know how –!And I don’t wish for anything better than that Adam’s life would be okay, but-“

_But he’s a Winchester._ Itdidn’t need to be said.

“Dean, stop it. Maybe God or whoever you want to call it decided to be nice with us, just this once. If you don’t believe me get this,” he cleared his throat before he pulled his laptop closer to him, clicked a few keys and started reading, “ _After working part time at the local animal shelter finding loving homes for stray animals, including the writer’s new very friendly and lovely schnauzer, Adam Milligan had it in him to graduate with flying colours and get accepted to School of Medicine…_ ” Sam was surprised how calm he sounded in the face of Dean’s building anger. “And I’ve checked everything. It’s all good. No sign of ghosts, demons or angels. Nothing. Not even some power-cuts in the area. So chill.”

“ _Very nice, Sam, you’re pretty good!_ ” Lucifer snickered from his right, perched in the corner of the booth. “ _How to avert big brother checking the tremor and the pretty suspicious storm. Which was all his fault by the way. But excellent lie!”_

Sam couldn’t and didn’t even want to spare a glare at the Devil. Any glance away and it would fuel Dean’s suspicion and there was a high chance that this time they would start breaking furniture in a fight.

For a moment Dean seemed not to let go of the topic until he got his fight and shed blood, but their arriving dinner lifted his mood significantly.

“Now all my doubts are lifted. He’s certainly your brother.” Dean muttered.

“Pardon?” an incredulous grin made it to Sam’s face. Dean didn’t even bring up the _how can Adam be out without Michael and Lucifer_ ultimate doubt card that despite all the thinking he had put into it he wasn’t entirely prepared to dissipate. He couldn’t believe he was free so easy!

“Definitely. I’ve spent my years praying that you won’t get too stubborn over keeping a stray animal.”

Sam couldn’t help but chuckle at the expression on his brother’s face. He would have never thought that would leave such a trauma in Dean.

“So,” he started picking at his French Fries, “no monsters nearby.”

“The whole state is clear, yes.”

“And Adam is off to college.”

“Medical,” Sam confirmed.

“Well, let’s hope he’ll be the first Winchester to finish!” Dean lifted his burger for cheers to which Sam only rolled his eyes.

He wasn’t going to point out that he could have finished college by now if  his dear family wasn’t so fucked up that their father goes missing without at least a proper message if he really didn’t want his sons to start looking for him, _and_ if Dean hadn’t come knocking on his door to go for a man-hunt. It was about Adam now.

“Yeah, and I’ve been thinking,” Dean’s eyebrows rose to his hairline in suspicion, “and you know it can’t be easy on him and his mother to go to college so… Maybe we should help out.”

Dean’s eyes narrowed at him. “You know that we only take small hunts while we can’t help Cas, right?”

Sam’s stomach dropped. For a while Lucifer had been his biggest problem, then the demons, then Lucifer again, he nearly forgot about Cas and his war.

“Yes, but…”

“A day consists of 24 hours even for us Sammy,” Dean said, almost apologetically. “We promised Cas.”

He nearly called his whole idea off. Dean really looked miserable. Whenever he got so quiet about something it meant that it really bothered him, but he just couldn’t. He wasn’t entirely convinced that Adam was all right, and this way maybe they could keep an eye on him. In some ways. And he was family. Family remained in good and bad, no matter how annoying this line was.

“But we are his big brothers, so we should help.”

“Sammy—“

“We can’t do much for Cas right now. But we could do research even if we worked or something. You especially can’t sit around on your ass the whole day reading.”

Dean looked sceptical for a whole minute, but then he frowned.

“Fine. We could give it a try. But if you say we should send him money from our _forged_ credit cards I’m going to dip a silver knife in you.”

“Pff, of course! They can’t trace those cards back to us, but they certainly could to Adam and then back to us. I don’t think he’d appreciate us becoming the part of his life… like ever again.”

“ _You will, like it or not.”_

Sam was going to ask for Castiel’s angel blade real soon if Lucifer didn’t shut up.

“All right, genius, so what? Sending cash in an envelope is no more suspicious at all.” Dean wasn’t over the topic, but at least he was willing to see Sam’s point.

Sam worried his lip before he answered more cautiously and nearly shy this time. “I still have my old bank card. So it’s all clear and on my name, and since I don’t use it anywhere else, no trace-back.”

“What about your name? A transfer includes the name of the sender.”

“I could change Winchester to Mom’s name. Campbell. And no one should know it’s me.”

Dean hummed around his burger and then they sat in silence for a while. Sam occasionally poked at his own dinner casting a glance now and then up at the frown deepening over his brother’s eyebrows. Eventually Dean put down his food and leaning on his crossed arms he said:

“Spit it out. What am I gonna hate you for this time?”

“What? Nothing!” Sam protested but sighed at Dean’s own bitch-face. “Okay, here comes the part that we have to actually get a job.  To get the money to send.”

“Okay.”

Sam stared at his brother with big disbelieving eyes. Did he just agree to honest work without hours of bitching that they could do much better with hustling? That they didn’t have time? Not that they couldn’t really cross out that option. Honest work by day and hustling poker, pool or whatever they can find at night.

Seeing his expression Dean chuckled good-naturedly.

“I know a garage where they would certainly take me back, and you could make good use of the tips if you went for a bar,” the older Winchester grinned.

_“And I could always drop by for a drink.”_

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because I’m one hell of a mechanic, and I somehow forgot to seduce the daughter of the owner.”

Sam rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide his relieved smile. “So are you okay with this?”

“Well, not like it hasn’t been the story of my life ever since you could make a difference between honest and hustled work,” Dean shrugged and pulled his plate back in front of himself. “Now at least you also have a taste of what’s like to be a big brother.”

 

~*~

 

Adam, no matter how much he tried, was about to reach the end of his patience, because no matter what they say, accommodating two archangels was a difficult thing. Okay that they didn’t eat and didn’t really use water and also didn’t demand a bed to sleep on – but they _existed_.

He used to proud himself in not hating anyone just because of the sole reason of breathing (he always found a profound ground, like they way they laughed, or that they were picking at him, bullied him or took his lunch money) but Michael and Lucifer were crossing the line.

It was only lucky, and on some other level terribly depressing that he hadn’t had to explain his new roommates to his mother yet. Kate had been home for only one night to pack for another extra course. She was being promoted, but still. Adam hadn’t seen much sight of her lately. But at least maybe she wouldn’t have to work extra shifts in the future. Yet, it didn’t make the pang of regret in his chest any better.

That was a lucky night though, when no angel was around.

Adam didn’t really know how it happened, he was just happy that he didn’t have to introduce the Angel-Who-Looked-Suspiciously-Similar-To-His-Late-Father and the Psycho-Angel-Who-Was-The-Part-Time-Devil to his mom.

Said angel was probably out harassing Sam – and yes, in a few books it now certainly counted really close to sexual harassment; but the Devil’s occasional sulking in front of the TV and how the channels flipped from sappy dramas to horrendous murder shows indicated that Sam was more than capable at keeping him at bay.

But as for where Michael had disappeared to? He looked no better when he returned, as love-sick and hard and annoyingly quiet as fucking ever!

If he initially thought that he was going to have most trouble with Lucifer, he was sorely mistaken. If Lucifer was terrible (because yes, he still was) then Adam had no word to describe Michael. They were just two sides of the same coin of how to make Adam Milligan’s life a living Hell.

Lucifer was pathologically incapable of shutting up and whenever he wasn’t kicked out from Sam’s dreams, then he enjoyed listening to his own voice way too much re-narrating everything that happened, and Adam screamed his throat soar, until the bastard got it into his thick skull that he was NOT interested in how it feels to kiss his brother!

God knows what his neighbours thought of him and why they hadn’t called for ambulance yet.

But Lucifer at least left him alone most of the days! Michael? Rarely if ever! He disappeared and then popped back before Adam could catch a breather and the angel took his post next to the window. Staring out unmoving and unblinking, like some creepy statue for God’s sake!

It didn’t sound that bad, right? Except it was!

Whether he liked it or not - no one gave a fuck to ask him! – he shared a direct, though thank goodness muffled, link to Michael’s thoughts, and damn that was a mess! His anatomy books looked less scary than a tiny glimpse into the angel’s mind. Why was it so bad? Because whenever Adam was as much as in the same room as Michael he was slapped in the face by projected formless mass of thoughts that rang loud and clear with the name of Dean Winchester laced with something bitter that wasn’t really anger but – _something_ , and Adam would take a sack of brick to the guts any time over this.

Of course his way out of the house lead through the living room.

He had never thought he would have to start sneaking out through his window ever again.

 

~*~

 

“How’s Michael and his wooing doing?”

Sam gaped at Lucifer.

 “Michael?” he stuttered, “Wooing…? Wait, wait, wooing who?”

“Your brother of course,” Lucifer said as one states that the sun comes up in the morning and then goes down in the evening. Seeing the aghast look on Sam’s face though made his own eyes round slightly, and a thoughtful, bemused expression settled on his features.

“Huh.”

“Huh you say?” Sam all but couldn’t help the sneer.

“Yes. Getting out of the Cage was surprisingly not as horrible as I’d expected. Guess I can call us deuce by now.”

It took this long for Sam to catch up with certain pieces of information.

Of course it was too good to be true! Michael was back too. Of – fucking – course!

 “Wait! Michael is back?”

“Along with Adam, yes. But don’t worry, they aren’t that intimate anymore. Though my dear brother must be in pretty bad shape.”

“And you are here doing whatever you do-“

“Wooing.” Lucifer supplied helpfully with a wicked innocent look.

Sam blushed a bit but he cleared his throat to hide his embarrassment, “Wooing then and not fighting Michael.”

“Yes?”

“Why? What happened with – with the whole Apocalypse?”

“You might have lost me somewhere.” Lucifer said with a curious tilt to the head, but weren’t Sam so flustered he would have noticed that Lucifer was only manipulating him. Just a little bit. He really enjoyed listening to Sam. He loved listening to his voice, getting a free glimpse into how the hunter’s mind worked, and how bright it was! So he couldn’t really be blamed for grabbing all opportunities to get Sam talk.

“The last time you didn’t leave me alone was in the middle of the Apocalypse, and now I should be panicking, since we have enough trouble with the rest of Heaven and we could at least tick out the End of the World, but now of course both of you are back, on Earth and around us with Dean, going about convincing us to say that damn yes –“

Sam’s little rant that was coming dangerously close to the hunter hyperventilating was cut by Lucifer’s laughter.

“That’s lovely,” he chuckled with honest mirth. “But let me assure you Sam for the hundredth time, I’m not here to restart the Apocalypse. My mind is surprisingly one-tracked right now and even though it still revolves around you saying yes to me getting into you – well, it’s in quite a different and more pleasurable context.”

There was no denying it, this time Sam blushed hard and deep red down his neck and he felt flushed around his collar too.

“Why should I trust you?” he asked but couldn’t make himself look up at Lucifer.

“Have I ever lied to you, Sam?”

“But it- It’s not – not like you.”

“Just for once drop the labels of Devil and Angel.”

“But you are the evil one,” Sam grasped to the last shaking pillars of his world – only he didn’t know yet how close it was to collapsing.

“Why, because I’m from Hell? Sam, I’ve been around even sooner than Hell existed. You should know I’m as much from Heaven as any of my brothers are. I was just a bit different. I am actually way better than most of the angels.”

At Lucifer’s calm tone Sam glanced up and to his surprise there was no hardly-controlled rage in Lucifer’s expression, the one he used to see in his own eyes when he looked into the mirror once, but it wasn’t even the suppressed kind of anger he could see in his brother now and then. Lucifer was absolutely calm about this, he stood in front of him not the superior way he usually did but with ease, weight on one leg, arms loosely crossed over his chest, just this side of defensive and personal, the slight upturn of his mouth sad, features soft and pleading. Begging for ears to listen and heart to understand.

And Sam listened.

“I am an angel, just like Michael, Gabriel, Raphael or your dear friend Castiel. Except for one - I understood free will way sooner than any of them. I stood out from the order. Free will was for humans, they cried at me. What is an angel doing speaking his own mind that’s not a praise to God? It’s rebellion! It’s hubris! It’s weird! Poisonous. Plague. I’m sure you’re not unfamiliar with how people deal with the weird.”

Sam nodded with a frown.

“So you see, I was hurt and pained when they had no right to! I suffered for I have loved deeply, for I have been almost human in a sense. I came too close to Father’s pretty favourite creations, but was rejected. Do you know how it feels to race, to compete for love that used to be yours? I was betrayed then left behind and forgotten.”

“So you’re saying that you’re the good guy?” Sam asked suspiciously.

“I’m only saying that there are scenarios when you can say that.” Lucifer answered easily.

That was the moment when Sam’s world came crashing down. If Lucifer had said a simple, self-assured Yes or Of Course or even a too indignant No! would have only hardened Sam’s heart, because in the latter case he’d know Lucifer broke his promise to never lie to him. And then who could assure him that he hadn’t done that earlier already?

While in the first case Lucifer would be a maniac who only saw his side of the tragedy, a manipulative madman who acted on human feelings he didn’t even know beyond his lust for revenge. Earlier he thought at least Lucifer, the Devil and the demons were the only black figures on the board among the grey and even greyer other actors of the war he and Dean fought against the world, but now he had to realize that he couldn’t really classify Lucifer. He didn’t seem to be their enemy anymore. Though a voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like his big brother screamed at him that he had an awful record of character-evaluation…

But Lucifer had promised – no lies, no tricks. And so far he was the only one who had been faithful to his word. The Devil of all people and creatures.

Sam couldn’t suppress a helpless close to hysteric laugh to bubble up from his chest and he buried his face in his hands. Dean was going to kill him.

“So,” he started then chuckled at how weak his voice sounded. “No Apocalypse.”

“As much as I want to tear my dear brother apart now and then,” Lucifer said, “No. I’m too occupied watching over you.”

At first Sam wanted to scoff and was ready to turn his I-don’t-take-your-shit-bitchface on him, but then it all sank in; and he felt he could barely handle such great pressure. He had been dreaming about Lucifer ever since that crack on the wall of his mind but recently they weren’t of torture and pain. Just like tonight. They were talking. In some neutral or relatively nice environment.

Lucifer was actually ensuring he got some rest at nights.

The bed dipped under the weight of another body next to him and Sam felt cold seeping in through his leg as Lucifer pressed closer to him.

“Um. Thanks. I guess.” Sam squeezed out weakly and he was so disappointed in himself when he nearly whimpered in delight when a cool hand started rubbing gentle circles on his back. He managed to catch himself just in time. And only now did he realize that his initial shock had bled out and gave way to the slowly swirling pain in his whole body. It hadn’t been there earlier.

“It’s from the crack on the wall,” Lucifer said softly from very close to Sam. It should have been offsetting, but was instead surprisingly nice.

Sam turned his head toward Lucifer, “I thought it was healed?”

“Not really. The crack was deep and penetrating. It’s only going to get worse, especially if your big ass brother brings it up again.”

Sam flinched internally at the mention of his brother but it seemed like his suspicion was still holding on with claws and teeth. With a frown he tilted his head to the side to get a better look at Lucifer who was by now pressed up against his side.

“But -?”

“But what?” Lucifer asked back – and to the hunter’s further surprise there was honest confusion in the knit of his brows.

“There’s supposed to be a ‘but I could heal you if you do this and that’.” Sam knew he should sound bitter or ironic or at least accusing, but instead he only mumbled the words and God! he felt so ridiculous now.

“I wish I could,” Lucifer reached out and brushed his hand along Sam’s face, gently cupping his cheek in his palm turning the man toward him. “Unfortunately there is no way to restore the wall, and you’d better accept that with time it’s going to come crumbling down.”

Sam was mesmerized by the enticing gentle words and the honest regret and pain in those electric blue eyes.

“But I’m going to help you face what is on the other side of the wall Sam, I promise you that.” Then after a short pause he added, “It’s only up to you whether you let me or if you want to fight me as well.”

Sam couldn’t help but lean close and brush their lips shyly together. He felt Lucifer smile slow and satisfied, then cold hands slipped into his hair cradling his head as he was about to pull away keeping him in place kissing the Morning Star as if  it was the most natural thing in the entire world.

~*~

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, look at this! Did I just update in a week? :D (It won't become a habit, but maybe will last until next week)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael is back, but he is not taking things as smoothly as Lucifer does. There are angels who just can't leave the Apocalypse behind as easy as others...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long chapter again, and it's sort of stalling the story. It's just that you know what's up with Michael too, and you deserve a brotherly moment.  
> And I'm updating now, one because I'm so giddy that I have it so quickly, and two because I'm anxious about today's new episode, and I'm so worried I'd got so pissed at Sam (again) that I won't be able to write/post anything in a while. (Don't look for the logic, it only seems to make sense for me)  
> Please enjoy :)

**Dream of a Stairway to the skies**

**chapter 6**

**_Have I been blinded by regret?_ **

 

 

Michael had returned that morning. He was sure no one realized his absence. Maybe only so that Adam didn’t grumble all about him being a creep for standing in the window the whole day as if he was a statue.

It was peaceful for a while if one didn’t count the drizzle that made the summer day grey and flat. Children didn’t play out in the gardens, no laughter, no chatter, it was silent and the colours pale. Dead. Michael could relate to it. The only thing that would be better was a bitterly raging storm but nature seemed to be too weak to compound a tempest matching the archangel’s mind.

Lucifer and Adam were upstairs. They were getting on well. And Michael was fine with it. Honestly, he couldn’t care less. Adam wasn’t his vessel anymore and Lucifer had ceased to be his brother long-long ago, way before memory felt comfortable to fly back.

None of them held any importance – only that insect nagging at the edge of his mind, nibbling and teasing and irritating until he lashed out to smite the nuisance with the force of lightning –

Michael glared at Adam who had been calling out his name getting more worked up by each second as he didn’t respond.

“It’s lucky you’re not on sentinel duty, Michael,” Lucifer said, descending the stairs with the elegance of panthers. “You’ve grown tardy.”

Michael only curled his hands into tight fists and relished in the sobering feeling of the crescents of his vessel’s nails cutting into his palm.

“Now that everyone’s finally listening,” Adam started on his petty speech, and the human had the decency to feel annoyed and angry with them? “I need to talk to you about a few things, so sit down and listen.”

And he waited. As if he could command them around? Archangels? Creatures he shouldn’t be worthy to cast his eyes upon? Beings so unfathomably powerful Earth couldn’t bear them walking its deserted surface?

Adam cleared his throat and Lucifer was peering up at him with a condescending wicked smirk on his lips – waiting for his highness to oblige.

“Would you sit?” Adam asked pointedly and waved at the couch. “I prefer when you sit for our little talks.”

As if he could conduct Michael to go wherever he pleased, however he pleased, as if the human had the right to boss him, make him sit and look up at him like he used to sit at his Father’s feet, loyal and devoted. He wasn’t taking commands from anyone on this sphere!

“How dare you order me about?” he hissed and before he knew what he was doing he launched at Adam.

He barely crossed half of the room and even if he reached out he couldn’t get his hands around that fragile neck, so easy to snap with a thought, when he felt Lucifer’s arms wrap around him from behind, twisting his right arm behind his back, while the Devil’s other arm was in a vice grip around his other shoulder, his hand pressing down on the back of Michael’s neck pushing him into surrender.

Lucifer forgot a lot about their time spent together if he thought Michael would give up so easily – he didn’t care that his vessel was screaming in pain, it wanted to jolt to get away and relax muscles and joints so that they wouldn’t break, but the agony washed over his mind, taking it over like no other thing ever had. Michael sagged in Lucifer’s death grip and hissed, struggling in vain.

“What’s up with you, Michael?” Lucifer asked all cool gloating air fanning his neck, “Lost your juice? No powers so that you fall back to the petty mundane means?”

“Shut your mouth!” Michael snapped and tried to throw back his head, to get rid of the pressure, to glare at his enemy, but Lucifer’s hold was relentless. He had his grace! Why did _he_? Why was _he_ better now again? Why…?

“It’s futile and you know it,” Lucifer told him. He was smirking. He was having fun watching Michael struggle. Lucifer was gloating on him. “Stop it or I’ll show you how fragile this human body can be and how much it hurts when you don’t have a sound bone.”

A threat. Lucifer was threatening him. How dared he?

But Michael would lose. He knew it. He was painfully aware of his weakness and that Lucifer knew it too and if he didn’t want to lose he had to give in. He had to surrender.

Michael didn’t surrender to anyone! So he gathered all the strength he had left to command his broken wings and flew away.

~*~

How did humans bear with this overwhelming feeling of emptiness and loss?

Now he understood them maybe a little better. They hoarded stone and marble, gold and gems and pearls for their own greed but also to build enormous churches, and basilicas, towers slender like a begging hand stretching up to Heaven, trying to reach his Father, the Creator of all, the Wise and the Almighty.

How could they bear that they could never reach Him? How could they deceive themselves that if they prayed and if they came to this holy place they could talk to him? How could they do that when Michael, his first, his loyal son couldn’t?

He had lost his Father long-long ago, but he had never allowed this to come crashing him down to the ground. It was enough at that time that he lost his brother, his beloved dear brother and he chased away their Father. Michael had no time to mourn. He had to step up to take the rule of Heaven and prepare the Host for battle. He had to be the big brother.

It wasn’t his place to weep. If he did – and how often he was there, standing at the edge, his eyes unseeing and still aware of all the moans and sighs of the world cast down where his brother was hidden; if he let reality sink in, he might have fallen himself.

Falling – It was like flying, but not. There were no wings that could change his direction, the ground came closer and closer and landing was hard. Crushing. Cold. Empty.

Just like this place.

Crosses, crucifixes all around, holy pictures, the rose windows were colourful as the sun-rays cast through them at a low angle, the angels, his kin, looking down on him with pity in their cold eyes. People believed that in a church God was with them. Close. In their hearts. He heard their prayers and didn’t even find it in himself to feel affronted or condescending.

He wished he could have their faith. He wished he could have the certainty that if he had gone up to his Throne his Father would turn his ear to him, would hear his pleas, would hear his misery and had mercy on him.

How the mighty has fallen…

Michael spent the day there, sitting in a row close to the back, alone, out of everyone’s sight. Whenever someone wanted to approach him, he mimed the other humans, lacing his fingers, bowing his head and… that was all he could do. Because when he wanted to open his mouth to pray, or to at least do as if he were, there were no words coming. His mind closed down. It was blocked – blocked by something huge and cold which sizzled hot at the same time and he wanted to cry. Cry and weep and sob and break, lose every control and rage up a storm, throw a tantrum, set it on fire, destroy what his Father created, maybe that would call him back. Maybe then, he would see how much he needed Him, how much he needed to be told what to do, what was his duty?

What was he supposed to do now?

“Hello?” a tentative voice asked from his right.

Michael didn’t want to talk to anyone. He was ashamed of his weakness, he didn’t even know what he was doing here. He was loyal, he would- he would never turn on his Father, but he just didn’t know what to do, he was desperate for a sign, for a task to be assigned… His grace withered in the distance and he was painfully aware of his aimless identity… It was the last thing he needed to be exposed to a maggot of all creatures.

But the soft glow was calling out for him. It was soft and warm in this big empty world.

Michael glanced up and he saw a middle-aged woman with dyed blonde hair and tattoos all over her arms and chest, it was visible even though she tried to cover them up with a thin cardigan.

She smiled at him.

“Hi,” she said again. “Sorry to disturb you in your solitude, but, well, you seem lost and thought you might wanna talk.”

She chuckled nervously and pulled the edges of her cardigan a bit tighter around herself under Michael’s steady gaze. Right, people didn’t like it when he looked at them unblinking. Her presence, though – she managed to distract Michael from his inner misery for a little while as he gazed at her. She was growing uneasy with the shield of defiance slowly covering her to protect from hostility and prejudice. Michael frowned.

“Thank you for your kindness,” he told her, “but I’m not in the mood to talk.”

She pulled her mouth into a bitter grimace. “Look, if it’s because of the tattoos and all, I can assure you I’m a good Christian.”

Michael tilted his head to the side. “It has nothing to do with it.” Michael didn’t understand much with all the prejudice people had for each other based on mere appearance. Her soul was faint but warm, scarred but shining steadily.

“Then there’s no reason why we shouldn’t have a chat.” She smiled and took the seat next to Michael. “I’m Hailey by the way.”

“Michael.” He said and stubbornly set his eyes on the crucifix over the altar.

“Oh, that’s cool. I’ve always wanted to meet a Michael! Pretty popular name, you know, because of the archangel, but somehow I’ve never come across one.” she kept her voice low, and it was a bit rough but she was nice. Kind. Michael even allowed himself a wry smile.

What if she knew?

“It must be a sign that we met,” she went on, probably her own strange way of ice-breaking. “I mean, I don’t want to pick you up or anything. That would be pretty lame in a church… All I mean is, God thinks of everything, maybe he had mercy on me and sent me a Michael.”

“I’m sure he didn’t.” Michael said and couldn’t keep the bitterness out of his tone.

“Oh?” Hailey tried, but she wasn’t even close to how smooth Lucifer could get when he wanted to get something out of Michael. “You mean he didn’t send you or he didn’t think of everything?”

Michael was so ready to say that he was sent here. After all he was out of the Cage and was sent to Earth instead of Heaven… But maybe he wasn’t. Then why wouldn’t there be a new order? If Father sent him, what was he expecting him to do? Why didn’t he tell him?

 “Both.”

 “What makes you so sure?” Hailey prodded. Michael was surprised to find her honestly intrigued.

So he sighed.

“He couldn’t have thought about it, because….” because he only planned until the Apocalypse? His last orders were that Michael should fight his brother. And now that it was over? There were no more Apocalypse, and that order just – it just didn’t come to him, so it must be valid no more, right? “… because he had left. He doesn’t – he doesn’t care what happens to us.”

It hurt. Oh it hurt so much to say the terrible truth out loud!

“I’m sorry,” Hailey muttered and put her tattoo-covered hand on his arm soothingly. “But you should know that he does care. We are his children, we call onto his name in our prayers and he listens to us. He’s listening to you.”

“He doesn’t.”

If he had the power, his voice would ring with finality and the earth would shudder from the weight of his words, windows would crash and the skies would crumble. But now he only sounded broken and petulant. Pathetic even to his own ears.

Hailey stayed silent for a while eying Michael as he wrung his hands in frustration and anger over his lost powers and his grace that just somehow slipped out of his fingers whenever he tried to reach out for it.

“Can I ask what happened?” she asked gently.

Michael looked at her confused and in surprise.

“I – people usually feel like that when, when they had lost someone,” Hailey clarified and weaved her own fingers in her lap. “Not that I have much personal experience, but I’ve been a member of this church for a few years now and see a lot of people like you. They, they all lost someone. Family, friend, someone.”

It slipped his lips suddenly, “My brother.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” she said sadly.

“He’s not dead,” Michael reassured her quickly. He didn’t know why. But the words just escaped, words that he would never share with his kin, or Adam or his brother. “He just… I lost him for years. Long years. And I don’t know how to… If I could find him again.”

“Oh!” she sounded definitely more relieved at that. “Well, if you take my advice, you go seek him out, no matter what. He’s your brother, and trust me, no matter how bad it was once, you’ll always understand each other the best. Perks of not being alone. Time apart or not, you’ll always have the connection…”

Later she tried to build her whole reasoning on how he should talk to his brother, how he could always trust him, no matter what had happened, and that God would lead their ways to find the best words to make it up and Michael soon excused himself.

Hailey was a kind soul, but Michael was irritated and more troubled than to take the forlorn advice of a petty human. He wondered if she knew that he had the Devil as a brother would she be so certain in her reasoning?

~*~

It had been two days since Michael’s outburst, but the time didn’t really help him calm his thoughts. He felt even more depressed if possible.

His Father didn’t answer him.

He felt betrayed, but instead of anger he honestly expected he only felt the surging pull of emptiness. His already damaged grace throbbed around the edge of the void confined in his vessel’s constricting chest, eager to swallow him whole and destroy everything he had once been.

A silent deep sigh escaped him as he slumped in a chair back at Adam. He was acting like a criminal, sneaking into houses, looking for shelter while hiding from the world. Michael’s face contorted in disgust. He had only felt so distant from himself once before, and now he wondered if he had lost the meaning of being himself, being a protector back then and now it was only the façade that finally started give way shredding away and burning slowly in holy oil to ashes and dust –

Such thoughts were the reason he returned. Praying was of no use, especially that despite all childish hope he knew that the one he was crying out to had left long, long ago, and so he remained in a devastating war on the battlefield of his own mind.

There had been some wandering thoughts that surfaced like the glimmering slick bodies of fish in the endless oceans, like the weak glimmer of a lonely star of hope in the eternal cold night. On the silvery-gold scales he read the name Dean Winchester.

Those were rare and evanescent moments of clarity. His raging hurt pride and loyalty was soothed, like a gentle touch in devastating fever.

But as those thoughts came they were soon gone and he was just where he had started, on the deserted battlefield of Armageddon. Alone.

If he had let such thoughts of rebellion carry on any longer he’d certainly end up breaking down.

He wondered if the same had happened to Lucifer? If he was becoming the new Devil? –

The gentle brush of Adam’s conscience that was ready to drift into a nightmare jostled him from his own thoughts. For these moments his grace came to his fingertips at his command, to reach out for the boy to guide his mind back and away from the confined memories of their time in the Cage. How could it slip his attention how fond he’d grown for the boy? But that was all. As soon as his thoughts were of his own again, revolting around his bitter anger it all shied away…

The crystal bottle of liquor felt cold in his palm and Michael revelled in the feeling edged with guilt and disgust, that he tried to wash away with the burn down his throat and let it pool in his stomach.  He put the bottle back down and wondered if drinking it all would have the same effect on him as it was for humans. It was strong liquor and it’s not like he had much experience with alcohol, he couldn’t really hold it long and his vessel surely couldn’t hold this much…

He was half way done and his head felt heavy and fuzzy when Lucifer walked into the dark kitchen. Of course there was no darkness that could withhold the brilliance of his presence.

It only added another painful throb of pain to Michael’s misery.

“I don’t remember ever having seen you so debauched, Michael,” Lucifer said and took the seat next to his brother, stature all confidence and relaxed ease.

Michael immediately felt his defences coming up, slamming hard into place. His mouth quirked up into a smirk, upper lip drawn up just a bit to reveal the white flash of teeth.

“I thought I was safe since you were out on a date with your dear Sam,” he retorted smoothly leaning back in his chair. “Or have you been turned down already?”

Lucifer regarded him with an even look and bared his teeth on his own in a predatory grin.

“He is not asleep yet so I still have time to bother him in his dreams,” he shrugged. “Which I would have told you if you hadn’t been so jumpy to listen to anyone.”

Michael’s face hardened at the open challenge in his brother’s tone. It took him all his will power to subdue all instincts to stretch his wings into all their glory to remind Lucifer who he was mouthing with. But he had to keep them hidden. Even though his grace was finally under his control again he was still weak, something he had never experienced before; while Lucifer didn’t seem to have the same problems. His biggest trouble was to alter his vessel from time to time so that it could contain his ever radiant overflowing presence.

Michael felt threatened by Lucifer.

He didn’t like to admit it even to himself but it was still the truth. And seeing their history it was really unnerving. Even with their mutually discovered new distaste for the Apocalypse, but who knew how long Lucifer would stick to that mood?

“What is it with you Michael?” Lucifer asked and the honesty in his eyes made Michael’s insides churn and freeze.

“I don’t know what you mean,” he said evenly and reached out for the bottle to give his hands something to do.

“You know very well what I mean,” Lucifer covered his brother’s hand with his on the neck of the crystal glass. When Michael snarled he only tightened his grip.

“I am not that weak anymore,” the archangel hissed, his voice threateningly cold.

His skin was warming up until it was ablaze with fire and he knew Lucifer didn’t appreciate it a bit but didn’t let him go.

“I don’t want to fight you brother.”

Their eyes locked for a long minute.

Then Michael let go. His skin cooled back over the cracked glass and Lucifer pulled his hand back too.

It was a time Michael had felt awful and stupid, but he knew better than to show it. He put on his stoic mask even with the spinning going on in his head and leaned back in his chair. He wasn’t that confident in himself anymore but it was all about show. He wasn’t weak. He wasn’t.

“You know,” Lucifer started on a chatty bored tone, “as much as it pains me to say, these cockroaches are better at coping than us. And I don’t necessarily mean the drinking.”

“They don’t have eons for their habits to get drilled into them,” Michael nodded.

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“How did you, then?”

“You don’t know how to cope with losses, do you Michael?”

His eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared with the new wave of anger raging in his mind.

“You say I have no experience of such?”

“I only say that I have way more than you,” that cheeky nonchalance Lucifer spoke with was really trying Michael’s patience.

“Please tell what was all that you have lost?”

“Everything, as for starters.” The brash honesty and the way it cut so cold! “And you have a teaser of that, Michael. I have lost everything I once had. My place in Heaven, my home, my family, my brother. Don’t you think I know what I’m talking about? I know what you are going through right now.”

“How would you?! How did you answer to your loss? Creating evil and pushing the Apocalypse—“

“It was set to happen, and don’t you dare accuse me with the Apocalypse! It’s who you are, Michael, it is who _we_ are. Both lost without that final goal.”

Michael fell into silence. Yes, it was hypocritical of him to call Lucifer out on the Apocalypse when he was so lost now that the goal he had devoted his whole existence to was taken from him and was nothing else given in its place.

“All I wanted to say,” Lucifer spoke again more calmly and back to his chatty attitude, “is that humans have rebellion in them from the very beginning. Lost something? Be angry, cuss at Heaven, rebel!”

“You speak as if rebellion and free will was the same,” Michael sighed.

“Are they?”

“Free will is an illusion.”

“What is rebellion then?”

Disloyalty. Cheeky blasphemy to Father’s plans. Violation of fate.

“What about fate then?” Michael asked back instead. “Either rebellion is a part of Father’s divine plan and then there is no place for free will or you underestimate and belittle Father’s powers, which is even worse.”

To his surprise Lucifer only pulled his lips up into a smirk.

“Why can’t you believe in both?”

Michael frowned. “They are antagonistic.”

“Not that much. I, for example, am a great believer of both.” Somehow hearing Lucifer claim he had faith in something wasn’t that astonishing. “There was the Apocalypse set to come down and it was fate or Dad’s plan to make everything happen the way it did. Though for a good while I suppose it was more like you and me and our minions working to bring it forth.” Lucifer waved with his hand absently. “But then came the mortals, humans with their petty free will and stubbornness to cling to their pathetic lives and where are we? Sitting in one’s kitchen having a heart to heart. Funny, don’t you think?”

Michael regarded his brother carefully and tried to look at him differently. It was hard because the voice that screamed of threat and trap and deception echoed back and forth in his brain, but he couldn’t deny that Lucifer was indeed different.

“Where is your hatred for humans, Lucifer?” he asked tilting his head to the side. The movement wasn’t as smooth as he had intended, his head nearly fell to his shoulders and he had to fight to stay upright.

The question seemed to have taken Lucifer by surprise and he thought about it longer than he usually did, then he gestured widely at himself. “… Somewhere.”

“… Is it gone?”

“No.” Lucifer stated firmly. “I just can’t grasp it anymore, you know? Whenever my temper flares for these abominations the old hatred just slips away like a fish. I don’t think even Father could, or would, just magic it away though.”

Michael nodded at that deep in thought. Lucifer still spoke the same hateful and disgusted words of people, it was a miracle he hadn’t acted on his strong feelings yet.

“You know, when I give it a second thought – because I can do that when not blinded with anger,” Lucifer went on rolling the stud of Michael’s bottle around his fingers absently, “I think, screw the whole bunch! I’ve spent my time sitting in a Cage for I tried to shed some light on Father’s dearest little monsters’ true nature. And what did I get? Locked away from everything that mattered to me. Screw you then! Why should I care anymore? They are useless, ruthless, full of hubris and ego, disrespectful of Father and us, and I only wish I could see his face when he can’t ignore anymore what beasts he had created. There’ll come the time everyone’ll cuss the Winchesters for stopping the Apocalypse and I’ll laugh so good…”

“You are criticising Father’s work.”

That’s what got them all into the chaos that ruled their lives now.

“Come on, Michael. I love Earth – the last perfect creation. But these hairless apes? Don’t tell me you like them! They destroy this world, doesn’t it anger you?”

“It doesn’t.” Michael admitted. “It saddens me, yes, but Father had put them where he’d intended them to be.”

“You’re just singing the old song,” Lucifer sneered but without the usual malice that would get them going at it again. “This is what you were ordered to believe, why don’t you—“

“You want to restart the Apocalypse.” Michael interrupted him sharply.

Lucifer scoffed.

“Have you been listening to any of my words?”

Michael averted his gaze and in the same instant the fire flickered out in his eyes. He had, yes. It was just an automatic reaction and his consciousness jumped at the first opportunity to step on familiar territory where he knew what he was supposed to do, where he understood what was expected of him, where he could try to prove himself as the good son he was.

“See? You can think on your own after all.” Lucifer said on a softer tone that didn’t make Michael as uncomfortable that would soothe his pride. “That’s all I want.”

The archangel cringed internally. He knew that Lucifer was the great deceiver, the one to tempt you into sin and rebellion, but this time everything pointed in the direction that his Father too wanted Michael to rebel. To act on his own and try to understand that strangely impossible concept that he had never believed in. _Free will_. And Lucifer probably knew it too. He had always been the brilliant one, smart and intelligent, the one who had never had much problem understanding new things. He got used to the new realms Father had created and always delighted in showing Michael all his new discoveries.

His heart throbbed painfully at those memories. He missed them. But that and this Lucifer wasn’t the same. Even though they were getting similar by each look he took at his brother.

“I don’t care much for humans. They are unimportant to me.” Michael admitted gently as if the spill of his thoughts could amend his accusing outburst. “But… they aren’t to Father. And to Dean.”

“Yeah. Same with Sam,” Lucifer sighed dreamily. “Strange that we can’t relate to the very same thing after all, isn’t it?”

Michael nodded and silence engulfed them.

For a while Lucifer’s gaze hung on him, unwavering and all-seeing. He tried to pull up his defences, to protect his injuries, the burntmarks from their ascension to Earth, wounds that he couldn’t spare grace to heal.

“Michael—“

“Don’t.”

“I only worry about you.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“Oh really?” Lucifer scoffed, clearly affronted. “Because I’m younger? And you’re my big brother to look out for me? And it doesn’t work the other way round? Don’t get angry big bro, but you obviously need someone to do that, you’re crushed without your precious orders! And who should do that then, huh? Raphael? Gabe? We’re all younger, so no. Then Father maybe? Or maybe you wouldn’t even let him because you’re his eldest and should cause no problem to him? Michael, you’re suffering and he doesn’t care!”

Michael sent him one devastating look but the fire within wasn’t burning on the coal of his loyalty anymore. This strange hatred and bitter disappointment raising its ugly head was terrifying.

“Or you want to become the new Devil?” Lucifer went on mercilessly. “Because as much as I’d appreciate you finally taking my side, the position is not vacant yet.”

Now the fire flickered out as if a bucket of cold water was splashed on a candle. Anger’s place was taken by cold fear.

“Yes, brother mine, this is exactly how you fall.” Lucifer said, but his voice was sad and gentle. Not taunting, not gloating, not pushing him any further. “I know how it feels and I also remember how much I needed you then to stop it.”

Michael looked at his brother – and what he saw saddened him beyond reason. It couldn’t be real after all that had happened to them.

“I’m not in the mood for your deceiving games, Lucifer.”

He was weak and Lucifer clearly saw through him. Like back in the old days when they could still see each other grace-to-grace and didn’t satisfy with masks and words that eventually tore them apart. Michael was very close to break and relish in the need to give Lucifer anything and everything. It didn’t matter anymore, right? Apocalypse was over, Father was gone without new orders, what mattered now then?

But the fear – oh the fear of falling, of being tricked and abandoned in the end, it was still stronger. He couldn’t allow himself the luxury to trust so easily.

Lucifer, on the other hand only sighed. So sad and so unlike his brilliantly bright little brother; and when in any other time he’d snap and pounce on the opportunity to torture Michael for rejecting him yet again, now he just stood with a rueful look. Michael thought that was it. They part and pretend that they didn’t even try to restore that was lost once and for all.

He was sorely mistaken.

Lucifer stepped up behind him and his hands slid to his shoulder, one slowly but steadily trailing down his back to settle in the centre. Just like he did on their first day back on Earth.

“I’d offer to groom your obviously ruffled feathers,” Lucifer sighed melodramatically as his agile fingers started working on the marble hard muscles of Michael’s shoulder, “but you obviously don’t trust me enough for that… Come on Michael, loosen up!”

As if it was that easy!

“Yes, yes, I know I’m acting strange and stuff,” Lucifer went back to babble. “Adam blames it on, how does he put it? That I’m _so disgustingly in love_. You could maybe try it too, it makes wonders to one’s concentration!”

“And yet here you are giving me a massage instead of harassing your boyfriend?” Michael asked and despite his better judgement let his head drop and his eyes shut. Now he could pretend…

“I think Sam would be affronted if you called him my boyfriend. But not for long! And yes, I’m just waiting for my call.”

A small smile tucked at Michael’s lips. At least one of them was doing fine.

“…And if you just at least listened to what I’m saying,” Lucifer pressed down his fingers into a hard bundle of muscle for emphasis. “I think you should finally grow a pair and go for Dean. Seriously, I could do without his constant bitching making Sammy all worked up.”

“I have bigger problems right now.”

“Oh, sorry, nearly forgot that you’re going without orders. How can a robo-soldier work without that?”

“Aren’t we over this?”

“I mean it. We’re over the Apocalypse shebang, so why not close it entirely? And it’s coming from me, so why not?”

“What makes you so sure that it’s over?”

“That we’re chatting.”

In its simplicity it actually made perfect sense. Michael originally scratched it up to Lucifer’s mood-swings that he was currently more obsessed with Sam Winchester than killing Michael. But Lucifer was more moody than that and there had been just hundred and one occasions they could have destroyed the world. And also, whenever he thought about the Apocalypse, it was easy to brush it away. He tried to reason with himself that he should cling to it, _it was the order_ , but then he remembered Dean fighting him again and again to protect his precious home and that was it. That pain wasn’t worth it.

No more Apocalypse.

It sounded surprisingly easy.

“You’re right.” Michael admitted. He wanted to sound concessive but it was pretty hard with Lucifer’s hands working wonders to his aching wings.

“I’ll mark this day in eternity,” Lucifer muttered. “But I’m a bit dubious if Raphael got the memo as well.”

Michael pressed his lips together. Right. Raphael.

“Don’t you wanna waltz upstairs and check what’s the hot news in Heaven?”

“To fight another brother?” Michael asked tightly. “No thank you.”

“Fair point. He’d certainly want to get you on board with the Armageddon again.”

It was highly likely. Raphael must have taken Michael’s place in Heaven, and… Michael wasn’t really proud of how things had changed in his family. Raphael, once silent and gentle and one to heal all wounds, turned cold and hungry for power, for acknowledgement, to be the first where Michael had never let him after he failed to soothe the pain Lucifer and their Father’s departure left in Heaven.

“We’re slipping back to angsting,” Lucifer sing-sang and just draped himself over Michael’s shoulder for good measure. “So what do you say? Heaven can screw itself and you go on a date? It’s been like _forever_ Michael.”

He attempted to shrug his brother off, but half a bottle of alcohol seemed to be enough to make him relaxed and his muscles rebelled against his fogged brain, especially after the massage, so he decided on just glaring at the messy blond head.

“Don’t _you_ happen to have a date?”

Lucifer hummed and put the tip of his stubble covered chin in the crook of Michael’s neck making him squirm in surprise.

“Now that you mention it...” Lucifer was immediately off of his brother a thousand watt bright grin plastered on his face. “I’m being called.”

In a flutter of wings he disappeared and Michael found himself alone with a still half-full bottle of liquor he really planned to empty for good measure. Just because he didn’t like leaving things half-finished.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't really have anything written about the next chapter yet... but maybe, you can pray that Sam won't be an ass to Dean tonight (I love Sam, I really do, he just made me really worked up last episode) and then I'll keep procrastinating my thesis by writing this :)


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucifer tries with all his might to convince Sam that he really does love him, while the wall in the hunter's mind is breaking slowly but surely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all thank you very very much for all the kindness for my last chapter! <3 I love you guys, those were the best moments of my last weeks! :)  
> And because I'm an evil petty thing, you'll have to wait for another chapter for Michael... Blame the series I'm working with, they do the same procrastination thing :P  
> Title's from Voltaire's Almost Human song. That always brings Lucifer to my mind.
> 
> Ugh, I'm a bit worried because it turned out as a monstrously-long chapter (again) and I really can't decide if it's good, or if I should start to try and pick them apart into shorter sections? Is it too much for an update like this?

**Dream of a Stairway to the Skies**

**chapter 7**

**_Almost Human_ **

****

Lucifer rolled his shoulders before he glanced around. A little different setting, not a dream, surprisingly, that was a change. It made a smug smile curl his lips upward. Sam called him while he was awake. Perfect.

There was a constant low fuss, people enjoying their summer break at a flashy hotel, either soaking in the pools or pranking each other into jumping in the water like cannonballs making everyone on the shore scream. The thrumming music through the speakers and the vibrating colourful lights made Lucifer pull his mouth into a disdainful tight line, but then he just rolled up the sleeves of his black shirt and headed toward the bar where he sensed the enticing smooth call of his hunter’s soul.

Michael could angst all he wanted, and this pile of cockroaches could buzz around for all he cared. As far as they didn’t stand between him and Sam. (Strange that he never referred to him as his true vessel anymore. Not even in his head.)

Sam bustled about behind the bar with a strained smile occasionally making it to his face when someone tried to chat him up, but he was busy enough that he only had to take the orders, prepare the drinks with the same steady hands that cut vampires’ heads off with ease, take the money, then hand the colourful or small shot glasses out just to glance up at another random person.

“What do you suggest, handsome?” Lucifer slipped up to the counter with a cunning smile.

It didn’t go past him how Sam’s eyes widened just a bit appreciatively as he checked him out, gaze lingering at the cut of his shirt that revealed his collarbones. When their eyes met though, Sam was quick to mask up his appreciation.

He licked his lips, and while his hands were already busy preparing something – Lucifer could really not care even if it was some poison from the hunter’s secret pocket – and muttered under his breath,

“Wouldn’t have thought you’d turn up.”

“Seriously, Sam,” Lucifer smiled. “When have I ever dumped you? You don’t call me often.”

“Am I going to regret it?” Sam asked.

Lucifer took the tall glass, hands brushing and lingering in the touch much longer than necessary.

“Only time will tell,” Lucifer winked, and he felt his chest warm up seeing the exasperated eye-roll from his hunter.

Before Sam could shot back with a snide remark or simply demand Lucifer got lost before Hell broke loose, the bar was rushed by an insufferable mass of loud mouths and grabby hands and Sam was busy again. Though, now and then he sneaked a glance at Lucifer. It warmed the fallen angel’s borrowed heart, and he didn’t even mind the maggots trying to occasionally shove him off his barstool.

~*~

The thing about rebellion was that it had a nasty nature that was difficult to tackle. Especially when one was alone.

When you finally made up your mind it all happened within, lonely and cold even if you felt like flames were licking away at your soul. Then you think this is it, the final blow, you can do it. Grab it firmly around the waist to pull it to the ground hoping that this act would be the last one, but suddenly the tables are turned. You are the one under, falling helplessly like a piece of stone with all your fears and doubts turning on you, blocking out all the light and hope.

You expect, you desperately wish for this hurling fall to end. Anything, death is a hundred times more desirable, just let it be over –!

Then it is.

Everything is silent and still.

And you’re alone.

Then it is unbearably much and too little at the same time, because you can’t take your own hand to pull you back up on your feet. And it’s also not enough because you are the victim. You had been hurt. And there are so many to hate, so many to blame.

Lucifer knew that best. He had a God to blame. He had a traitorous hero of a brother to blame. He had an entire pathetic race of humanity to blame and a whole world of his own creation to hate.

But the thing was, rebelling wasn’t that impossible when you had something, someone to rebel for. Someone to keep you over the surface.

Lucifer wasn’t exactly the text-book example of that since Michael refused to stand with him, but it worked just fine for Castiel.

His little brother was the successful rebel if one didn’t count the civil war he got himself into. He rebelled and fell for his human, sacrificing everything, taking a blood-wit to his head because he knew Dean Winchester would grab his hand and pull him back up even though he, too, was just barely on his knees.

That man… He had tried to be loyal so much, to do what he was told, never wanting more than what he was given, yet all around him angels fell and rebels sprung from the ground. Just like Michael.

Lucifer chuckled into his glass at the image. Maybe it was true that whoever touched the older Winchester was cursed. Determined by fate to rebel and fall just to stand up again. He didn’t like him, maybe Lucifer fancied his stubbornness and was a bit grateful that he had kept Sammy alive, and had in fact a bright soul, but he didn’t share the crush the other two angels had on the hunter.

Michael, though, was also on the highway to Hell if he didn’t reach out for the human.

It was both a relief and a distant nervous lump in Lucifer’s throat when he thought about the stormy look on his brother’s face when he left. They sadly couldn’t stay in the same room for too long, the tension of the Armageddon was still ever-present, but Michael opened up for him. He was willing to believe that Lucifer had changed – even if he didn’t, and that was promising.

Although he wasn’t so sure if Michael could start seeing that he needed Dean Winchester to exercise some free will after one night of them talking – Hell knew what had been going through his brother’s mind for the past few days. But maybe he would take an easier path of rebellion. That would be just enough torture for his loyal good-soldier self.

It didn’t help much his revelation that his brother hated Castiel so fervently.

It seemed Lucifer won the ungrateful task to kick him in the right direction just careful enough not to restart the Apocalypse. As for that, he only shrugged. It didn’t seem so difficult right now.

For him Sam was the perfect match.

A man with an unquenchable flame of rebellion pulsing hot and red and full of life in a kind heart. Capable of burning passion both dark and destructive and vitalizing, while sensitive to understand. Sam was light, war-weary but evergreen, a beacon in the night and Lucifer was drawn to him as much as Sam had been running to him. He had been waiting for Sam in his Cage, unconsciously and at time impatiently but now that the time had come, all pain and all the suffering his rebellion brought was worth it.

The sting of alcohol ran down his throat warmly, despite the chunks of ice he crunched on idly. He fished the cubes out of his second glass, placed it to his lips and nibbled and sucked with a lewd look as Sam came up to him with a tired little smile. Lucifer loved that smile. He loved the dimples, and the pale colour that bloomed high on Sam’s cheeks as his eyes traced the run-away droplets of icy water coursing down Lucifer’s fingers and chin.

“Busy night?” Lucifer asked with quirked eyebrows.

Sam sighed and leant on the counter opposite to the archangel and pressed his big palms to the cold side of Lucifer’s glass.

“Last day of this group’s holiday at the hotel. They try to make the most of it.” His face crumbled into a disdainful grimace. “I always forget how much college students can drink.”

“Never been much to party?” Lucifer asked, then took the ice cube from his lips to press it to Sam’s over-heated hand, tracing easy patterns on the tanned skin leaving a shiny track behind.

“I preferred studying,” Sam ducked his head, the curtain of hair hiding his blush.

He had really nothing to be embarrassed for, Lucifer thought warmly, and he shivered a bit. This blooming affection was new but oh so nice.

“But Jess’s tried to get me out enough.”

Heavy gates slammed down quickly in Lucifer, putting out the flickering light of warmth, hardening his expression into something carefully unreadable. He didn’t like Jessica. Sam’s perfect girlfriend. Ex-girlfriend. He’d lie if he said he wasn’t happy that she died. She had to die to push Sam toward Lucifer, she was only a station on the road that had lead up to now, but it didn’t mean that the angel had to like her for that.

Meanwhile Sam took his wet hands away to comb his unruly mane back from his face. Lucifer tried to distract his thoughts from the dead girl he once, too, had taken the form of to reach out for Sam’s heart, and rather watch the flexing muscles of his arm and chest.

He didn’t have much time though, because the moment was broken by a sharp screech of a “Hey!”

A woman with so much glimmering makeup it would make for a death-mask, tanned golden brown and in a pair of bikini that probably cost more than what Sam could earn in a month pushed her way to the counter, sending Lucifer an ugly, probably devastating look.

“Move, old man!” she said and turned her gaze at Sam. “Where’s my order, pretty boy?”

For a moment Sam was frozen on the spot. He glanced at Lucifer, who only looked back at him with total indifference.

“How about you don’t gay out in the middle of the party, hm?” she went on, her voice sharp, like blades slipping on each other, hissing and awful. A harpy sang smoother than her. “Come on, move!” she snapped at Sam. “How can they hire you? Others would be toppling over to serve me. Fags like you are just incapable of anything. Which dude did you suck off for those tips, huh?”

A muscle twitched in Sam’s jaw when he put the blood red and pink cocktail in front of her.

“Here’s your order,” he said strained, but calm.

She made a face, she probably wanted Sam to quip back so that she could shriek some more. The diva dropped a bill on the counter – far from the price of her colourful drink, then throwing her hair over her shoulder in a dramatic manner she left.

Sam didn’t have time to glare at her back because a new flood of customers rushed the bar, and his colleague just got held up among the tables.

Lucifer on the other hand…

He turned in his seat slightly so that he could watch the harpy stroll to a table, surrounded by an already inebriated bunch. He didn’t even need to snap his fingers, just squinted at the straw the girl was sucking at, making doe-y eyes at a muscular thug, and next moment an ear-splitting shriek rang through the air.

“SNAKES!” she screamed hysterically.

In an instant everything froze and only her voice could be heard, all eyes turned on her as she stumbled on her high heels, hands tried to grab her to calm her down, but she only grew more frantic, flailing all about before she slipped on the wet tiles next to the pool and with an undignified fall she ended in the water.

Of course there was nothing. No snakes, nothing at all, just her overly-sweet cocktail and a green straw on the ground.

Lucifer could feel Sam’s accusing glare at the back of his skull. He turned back to him with an innocent half-smile, and mouthed _prove it_. Sam only rolled his eyes in fond exasperation.

This little intermezzo made Lucifer feel better. Maybe that was also a reason why he could look back at another young woman who slipped on the barstool next to him. Closer than necessary.

“Hi,” she said and smiled brightly. “Can you suggest me anything? To drink?”

Lucifer regarded her with an unreadable expression.

“Shouldn’t you ask the bartender for such things?” he asked back.

“Maybe, if I wanted to flirt with him,” she said, her smile never wavering.

That was when Lucifer took a better look at her.

She was pretty by human standards, beautiful even, probably, but it was a bit difficult to tell with his history with these hairless apes and that he couldn’t imagine anything more beautiful than Sam. Dark complex, nice deep brown eyes, gentle curves, and a kind soul. She liked chatting guys up over some drink and then spend a night with them, and she also liked older men because she had some awful experience with guys from her own age. That also explained why she took a liking in Lucifer instead of someone else. (She wouldn’t have seen the end of it though is she made a move on Sam. Lucifer already had difficulties in refraining from smiting the flirtatious cockroaches rushing _his_ hunter all the time.)

“Sorry, sweetheart, I’m already taken,” Lucifer said and Nick’s ring clinked clear on the side of his glass even over the music.

“Oh,” she murmured and her smile turned embarrassed a bit. “I’m sorry for the trouble.”

Lucifer almost felt sorry for her. Almost. He wasn’t that far gone yet.

He looked at the golden band and wondered if he should finally take it off. He had never given it a simple thought since Nick was only a temporary vessel, but now that it wasn’t dissolving from his presence anymore, he should start actively owning the body. The sentiment, why Nick had kept his ring was nice, but courting someone with a ring on – that wasn’t acceptable.

~*~

Sam’s evening only got more hectic. He was really regretting calling Lucifer because he was getting the vibe that the angel attracted all the attention that somehow took a hairpin bend and ended up all directed at him.

The night was nearing to dawn, which meant he had to turn down more drunk college students, some of whom was irritated because they might have fallen victim of Lucifer’s boredom.

There was this giant, even bigger than Sam and it really was something, he just turned down really politely concerning how tired he was by now. The guy turned away but only stomped as far as to grab the collar of Raul, Sam’s colleague, to shake him out of his skin while sputtering in his face about how he should be served.

“Hey!” Sam called and quickly made his way around the counter to grab the guy by the shoulder. “Leave him alone!”

He turned, eyes foggy with alcohol, and his moves weren’t that well-coordinated either, but his grip on Sam’s arm was strong, but Sam had been doing this on a daily basis, he wouldn’t be fazed just like that. He took hold of the man’s wrist and squeezed, but he miscalculated, and his opponent was drunk enough not to feel the pain, and his left hook must be a knee-jerk reaction on his part, because the next thing Sam knew, he stumbled back and from another punch he slipped on the tiles and he was falling…

The last thing Sam saw before he went under was the murder clear in Lucifer’s eyes – then water, cold and thick and pressure engulfed him – it was all weighing down his chest, filling his lungs and it burnt; and also there was the sickening voice purring in his ear that the blood’s rushing pulse couldn’t crush –

So satisfied and evil, full of malice and still –

Like one welcoming their beloved pet that returned after an ill-timed escape, but with the clear intent in their heart to punish it for its defiance.

“We’re finally back together Sam—“

“You have never left—“

Sam broke to the surface with a gasp.

He looked around, and with all the air he could shove into his lungs he shouted, “LUCIFER STOP!”

 _It wasn’t happening, it wasn’t happening_ – he chanted panting. He came up quick enough to stop Elysian Fields Hotel to play down again, but only barely. He could see it in Lucifer’s ice-cold eyes.

Next moment he was swarmed away in a flutter of feathers, and was pressed up to a cold wall in a dark alley outside of the hotel’s yard, the noise from the pools a faint thrum in his ringing ears.

Lucifer was the only thing that kept him vertical, he was still dripping with water, but there also was a cold chill working its way from the tip of his toes and Lucifer’s touch, his fists balled in Sam’s t-shirt were burning cold but dry.

“Lucifer,” he gasped, and for a moment he couldn’t stand the fallen angel’s gaze. It was too much. An electric storm leaving all but destruction in its wake.

“How dare they?” Lucifer hissed slowly and silent, his voice smooth, like slipping on ice. “These failures, flawed, imbecile maggots— And you still claim them worthy of salvation?”

Sam swallowed hard and desperately tried to catch a last glimpse of the Lucifer he called out for.

“They should worship the ground you walk on. They should praise you for all you have done, for all you have sacrificed for _their_ good.”

“Shut up,” Sam pleaded and averted his eyes.

Shattered earth and living fire simmering through the cracks…

“When will you realize they don’t deserve your devotion? None of them deserve your love, they don’t deserve you Sam!”

“Because you do?” Sam asked harshly.

“You were made for me, Sam, from the very beginning,” Lucifer told him on that infuriatingly calm tone of his, as if he had given this lecture a thousand times already. Only that Sam had remembered each and all of them.

“Crafted for you, to be your _true vessel_ ,” he spat out with disdain and his eyes flashed like lightening. “A mean, so that you can finally smite this race so unworthy of me?”

“You are mine! Don’t you see?”

“No! And I don’t want to! Especially if you murder people!”

“They don’t matter—“

“They do!”

“They are abortions! Failures deserve to perish—“

“What about me then?”

“You are different, you are mine.”

“Well, I don’t want to be yours then.”

Lucifer stopped suddenly.

“What did you just say?”

“I don’t want you around.” Sam stated cold and cruel, without a trace of empathy left in him.

“But I keep you safe, Sam. I’m the one who loves you – I. How do I prove my love for you then?” The question, although desperate in sound, it was more of a threat in nature. A sign of Lucifer’s new façade snapping, and Sam craved it and feared it in the same time.

“I don’t know. Maybe by giving me a damn choice first time in my life.”

Lucifer’s lips pressed together into a firm line. He slowly let go of Sam’s shirt and took a step back, eyes hard and unreadable on Sam’s face.

“It is not your choice to determine if I love you or not.”

Before he could think of it Sam reached out and grabbed Lucifer tight around the hips and turned their position to slam the angel up against the wall. He was taller, but he wasn’t stronger, but for that flash of a moment when time seemed to freeze around them, Sam thought he caught a glimpse of Lucifer’s eyes rounding and gaze flicker from his chest to his face, a glint of worry and maybe fear but then it was all gone in a ferocious mixture of anger and lips and clash of teeth –

And Sam wanted to tear, wanted to cut and test, how far Lucifer was willing to go, to let him explore his trust, his so-called _love_ …

~*~

The sharp taste of salt and iron flooded his mouth.

Images of Lucifer consuming his vessel, his skin pale, a shade of purplish grey, and the layer that contained such earth-shaking powers seemed so thin, so easy to tear! And now, just in front of his eyes there ran thousands of delicate springs that thrummed with the stolen life of Lucifer’s vessel, violet and deep bourdon with the spark of light like the fallen angel’s essence. Even though the skin now had a healthier shade it was all the same thin cover of cells –

He could sink his teeth into it and he just knew that the flesh would tear at his will, and Lucifer would bend just like that, turn his head to the side to grant easier access to his throat. Sam could tear him apart, rend his skin off the muscles, reveal tendons and break the veins – just as he was broken, tortured and skinned alive while his throat was torn, no sound could make its way out of him, there was nothing just the devastating pain –

It would only take one word from him and Lucifer would let him. He would let Sam use his vessel, tear him to pieces as he pleased and let him drink all the red life that poured out of his broken clod, and he would even enjoy it, he would smirk, that devious grin that made him shudder…

He tasted death bitter on his tongue. It covered the twisting muscle like oil and as he desperately tried to swallow to get rid of the sick flavour it burnt, like water poured on acid that instead of soothing away the pain it burnt even more! He tried to force the chunks of frozen biting brimstone down his throat but they only tore it open, like shrapnels of dead stars and he was slowly filled with lifeless darkness, cruel and malevolent.

Sam tore himself away from Lucifer.

Away, away, it wasn’t him! It wasn’t Sam who craved the blood, be it demon or angel or whatever wicked creation’s!

From very far he heard Lucifer call out his name and he thought maybe he told him to stay away, but he wasn’t sure, his head was swimming and he just wanted to throw up to ease the sick twist of his insides. He collapsed in the root of the opposite wall, heaving, his whole frame shaking and sweat broke out on his forehead in fat beads.

Sam desperately tried to grab a hold of himself.

That anger, that dark, cold, calculating and ever-alone hatred that lurked in the far corners of the universe, hidden away in loneliness and sealed behind cruel bars of betrayal and war, and that sang a cruel hymn of destruction just he could stretch his wings once more – This anger had been gone. He had let it go, but when he caught a glimpse at it in Lucifer it was enough to grab and drag him back to Hell.

A quick spark of fury, that was all it needed, hot and searing and destructive like a comet crashing into Earth, and it set fire to his insides as if it was nothing but a field of dry grass.

He could feel fire roll on under his skin, stretching and burning away the walls of his veins, sneaking thickly among the fibres of muscle to the bone chewing lazy and unforgiving.

All that was remained of him, a cracked, broken, devastated soul, tortured and haggard.

Sam looked up at Lucifer and he wanted to cover. His mind blared _Flee! Cruel! Pain!_ He was staring into the darkest star, a smirk cracked and pulled at his face, skin peeled off to reveal the glimpse of unearthly power that made Sam’s eyeballs heat up, just seconds away from bursting on fire—

He bit down on his tongue and the new taste of human and earth finally grounded him enough. He could breathe again and see what was around him. For real.

Lucifer wrung his hands in pitiful helplessness, twisting his fingers into impossible angles, eyes ablaze and full of worry. He could barely restrict himself. It seemed to pain him that he had to stay put.

When their eyes met Lucifer was quick to move, but Sam reeled back and threw his hand up between them.

“Stay where you are!” he demanded roughly.

“Sam,” Lucifer started weakly and for a moment he really seemed tortured.

“You’re angry,” Sam panted, “Stay away from me while you’re angry.”

“I’m not angry with you Sam. Sam, please, let me help!”

“No!” A coughing fit interrupted Sam, but he was quick to recover and go on. “I – I can calm on my own. I—It—“ he sighed and coughed again, then spat out what gathered in his mouth. He finally breathed without the sickness turning his world upside-down. He scowled, but decided that Lucifer deserved an explanation.

“That anger – that’s where we connect,” Sam looked Lucifer in the eyes evenly. “You don’t love me Lucifer. You just feel I can understand you, because – because we share the same anger. And it, it’s just not safe to be that close.”

Like a spilled bottle of blue ink flooding the table sadness bloomed in Lucifer’s eyes before it swallowed his whole face. Slowly he sank down to his knees and keeping their gazes locked he cautiously edged closer to Sam as if he was nearing a frightened wild animal.

“What more would I need than your understanding, Sam?” Lucifer asked gently, eyes honest, the lines on his face so open, and pained and vulnerable. Like a child begging not to be pushed away for something he cannot help, for some small stupid mistake.

Sam smiled softly and sadly. He reached out and cupped the side of Lucifer’s face.

“What do you know about love Lucifer?” he asked kindly, with no accusation in his voice. “You’ve been alone for so long with no one to care for. What do you know about it now?”

Lucifer leaned into his touch, but averted his eyes to the ground.

Sam caressed his cheek with his thumb, and tried to ignore the gut-wrenching memories that rushed his mind; the nervous reminding flashes of Lucifer raging in the Cage; glimpses of the past that he remembered as stolen snippets of a film he tried to watch through the key-hole. Instead, he tried to concentrate on the angel, the one still lonely even in his presence, the one whose grace constantly sought the comfort of his broken soul.

After a long minute spent deep in thought Lucifer’s gaze flickered back at Sam.

“I do know what I’m talking about,” he said with defiance glimmering in his electric blue eyes. “Everyone forgets that once even I loved deeply.”

“I know,” Sam reassured him, “but that also was why you fell.”

Lucifer’s expression crumbled, and for a second Sam tensed up, ready for a blow, under his fingertips he could feel the dark thick sea of anger stir, rumble in the deep, ready to freeze over into penetrating spikes at the touch of lightning, but it never came. It was rather the pale cobalt blue cloud of sadness that settled and steadily swept out through the cracks.

“But I remember how it felt,” Lucifer said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper, desperation bleeding into his tone. “How good it was not to be alone. To care.”

“And you want to care about me?”

“I do.”

“Would you let me decide if I want you to?” Sam asked with trepidation seeping in his voice.

Lucifer eyed him carefully for a very long moment then blinked slowly a few times.

“I have told you I want to give you everything,” he said slowly, “I would do anything you want.”

Sam looked back at him, and he felt his heart was back in his chest again it throbbed so hard in pain. That moment he wanted nothing but to pull Lucifer close with gentle hands, cradle his face and shower his ever-thinning skin with affectionate kisses to wash away the millennium-old sadness, but he knew he couldn’t.

He gave a weak smile and rose to his wobbly feet.

“I need to get back. Finish my shift.”

Lucifer looked up at him and nodded tightly. He stood and Sam only blinked and he was gone.

 

~*~

The next week Sam was a bit worried how Lucifer could deal with all the emotions he quickly shoved behind tall dams. Even back behind the bar his mind was elsewhere, the hammer of guilt crashing him all the time, afraid he just pushed the archangel into another fit of apocalyptic rage, but his fears turned luckily baseless.

Lucifer clearly picked up that even though he couldn’t force his presence on Sam (he was still there in Sam’s dreams though, he felt that pair of eyes hanging on him, and sometimes caught glimpses of a raven, a cat with disturbingly blue eyes or a white serpent in the periphery of his vision) he deemed it acceptable to shower Sam with gifts. Just to make sure Sam came to the good decision.

It was, well, odd. Receiving gifts from a fallen angel…

At first he didn’t even realize it.

There was one day he forgot about getting breakfast on his way back to the motel (Sam was on breakfast duty while Dean was taking care of dinner), but to his great surprise he opened his eyes and on the table there was a paper bag with pancakes and a cup of coffee. It tasted heavenly.

That should have been suspicious.

Then there was a necklace, a dark crystal-like pendant on a black string, if he turned it right in the light it’d break to cast the picture of the night sky on the wall – or for the matter on his chest. It was too pretty to hide such piece of artwork decay and perish in the mysterious depths of his duffel.

Everyday, he couldn’t get Lucifer out of his mind – though he did try! He wondered what he was doing, if Adam was all right his hands full of an upset angel; what happened if Lucifer lost heart? If he decided Sam wasn’t worth the effort anymore…?

Surprisingly he started questioning the honesty of Lucifer’s intentions even less and was turning to self-depreciation.

However, Lucifer’s attempts worked hard to remind him how important Sam was to the Devil.

One afternoon he watched idly the news on the crappy motel TV and it showed a corn-field and a line of self-proclaimed scientists who tried to find out what alien activity could have burnt the strange symbols into the field.

Sam would swear it looked like Enochian. He didn’t want to know. He didn’t want to know what was written there. He just buried his face in his hand with a pitiful groan.

He couldn’t look Dean in the eyes after that.

Luckily, Dean was usually dead on his feet just enough that he didn’t care. They barely talked, Dean was so frustrated of their fruitless research for any help to Cas.

It was as if they weren’t even sharing a room.

The blade he got from Lucifer nearly gave him a heart attack.

Sam woke with a start for some noise outside and he instinctively reached beneath the pillow to grab his gun, but his fingers curled around the cool hilt of some kind of knife. He pulled it out, and for long minutes all he could do was stare at it with owlish eyes and with his heart thumping crazy in his throat, ready to burst.

At first he thought Lucifer presented him his angel-blade, and it was just so crazy he couldn’t even start to grasp the idea, but as he finally took a better look at it, he calmed slowly. It wasn’t an angelic sword, though in shape and size it was pretty similar. Instead of the simplistic line of metal, the hilt was carved carefully with symbols that resembled Enochian and it just fitted disturbingly comfortable in his palm. He didn’t want to imagine what Lucifer might have carved there – because he had no doubt it was Lucifer’s handicraft. It had that certain vibe that resonated with his heart beat so well.

Another kill-all blade. One that wasn’t stolen from killed angels, but quite probably could end one as well. Sam had the feeling he could kill Lucifer if he wanted to. But he didn’t. He had never been farther from such thought.

It was a brave and notable step Lucifer took.

Sam hadn’t got any research done that day, and he felt awful because of it. Instead he lay down and after an hour of tossing about he fell asleep. It was a safe way of calling Lucifer.

~*~

Making out with Lucifer in his dreams like horny teenagers had an uncomfortable side-effect. The very same as having sexy-dreams. Which he actually was, but it was still a bit more complicated.

Waking up was frustrating, and it took deliberately much effort not to be squirming under the stifling blanket to hide his morning erection just long enough that Dean left for work. Sam couldn’t take the teasing at the moment.

While he waited to hear the motel room door click shut Sam turned his face in the pillow, eyebrows knit together trying his best to erase pictures of Lucifer standing in front of him with a charming gentle smile in sharp contrast to his stormy eyes. The easy way he would let Sam curl his warm palm at the back of his thigh to drag him closer, then even more that he would have to crawl in Sam’s lap to straddle his legs. Even though Lucifer was taller like that, he didn’t take advantage of it. He didn’t try to subdue Sam, to push him, no matter how easily he could have succeeded.

They kissed gently at first, Lucifer’s hands on Sam’s shoulders keeping balance, but soon, as Sam grew more needy and eager and deepened the kiss Lucifer’s hand slid up to his cradle his jaw, a soft cool presence, grounding, before such thoughts could invade his mind again like at his workplace those long night ago.

Lucifer pressed closer, the pendant under Sam’s shirt was hard and cold, but nothing close to the angel’s engulfing presence.

Sam felt a building eruption in his constricting chest, pushing its way through the narrow choking slit that was his throat just ready to burst behind his eyes, it was so similar to what the grasp of fear felt like, but still so different! Lucifer was ready to lick his way into his mouth to distract him, his thumb drawing teasing little circles on his throat that made him gasp—

The door barely clicked close and a moan found its way out of Sam’s mouth, stifled by the pillow. His body throbbed with want, he was panting and hard, and he needed to ease the pressure or he was going crazy.

Quickly he sprang from bed and throwing his clothes on the floor stepped under the shower. He opened the tap, cold water rushed down in delicious pressure on his shoulder and it was like the ice-cube Lucifer played with days ago, freezing droplets sliding down his back, the teasing touches lingering on his skin, just like Lucifer’s hands—

Sam moaned and buried his face in the crook of his elbow he steadied himself with on the wall. If a cold shower couldn’t calm him anymore, he was royally fucked.

His right hand had been under the cold spray long enough that it cooled; biting his lower lip he tentatively moved his fingertips, they just skidded over his hipbone, he jostled slightly, but that was rather in a spark of excitement than discomfort, then he moved his hand lower until he wrapped his fingers around his straining cock that had absolutely no regard of the cold.

Instead of his lip, Sam bit down into the meat of his forearm to stifle his whimpers and moans as he started to stroke himself into a quick orgasm that left him shaking under the cold spray of water.

He only hoped chanting and internally moaning Lucifer’s name didn’t count as a prayer. He wouldn’t live that down…

 

~*~

 

The idea had been itching at the back of Dean’s mind, and if he read the word ‘angel’ and ‘immortal’ again he was about to flip out. He needed a break from all the (fruitless) research and feeling useless, so he decided it was time to use his lunch-break for something else and check out what’s up with Adam.

Big brother duties.

He smiled faintly to himself as he typed in the search engine ‘Minnesota’ ‘Windom’ ‘Adam Milligan’.

But no matter how long he clicked through the pages – and the frown only ever deepened when he was already on the second page - there was still no sign of Sam’s _people we are proud of_ site.

What he found though on the local news…

He couldn’t decide if he wanted to murder someone or just scream until someone shot him.

In his afternoon shift Dean couldn’t get himself together any better and it proved to be his shortest Friday ever when he was sent home before a car fell on him.

 

~*~

 

If Sam knew what was good for him, he would never finish shaving. The air in the motel room was crackling with tension, and as the centre of ice-cold frustration was Dean.  His stormy eyes bore a hole in the bathroom door and jaws clenched tight, fingers drumming impatiently next to the buzzing laptop as he waited for Sam.

Sam emerged from the bathroom, and the moment his eyes fell on his brother his good mood evaporated immediately.

“Hey, Dean. You’re back early.” he greeted, and self-consciously fumbled with rolling up the sleeves of his shirt.

Dean’s eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared. The worn greyish blue shirt was too tight on Sam’s shoulders. And it looked awfully familiar.

“When were you planning to tell me?” Dean asked instead. He put on his best authoritative big brother mask, the one who’s upset and very disappointed in his little sibling, yet he would remain calm. He was too angry to rage openly.

“What do you mean?” Sam scowled.

“This.” Dean said and turned the laptop to show the pictures on the screen. Roofs ripped off, poles turned out of the ground, trees smitten by lightning. “You call this clear? Not a power cut, but a fucking electric shit storm.”

“Dean,” Sam started, and levelled his brother with an even look. The one he knew Dean hated. This moment came sooner than he’d thought. “I meant it. Nothing’s threatening Adam.”

“Really? And who told you that? Wait, is he even really back?”

“Yes, he is.” Sam crossed his arms and felt Lucifer’s shirt expand on his back a bit. “Adam is as safe as he ever could be.”

“This storm is really reassuring. Truly.”

“He is warded, protected—“

“Warded?!”

“Yes.”

“Deal with the Devil, or what the fucking Hell is your spiel here Sammy?!”

Sam cringed. Dean’s voice was cutting, and for a moment he allowed himself the luxury to flatter himself that the Lucifer argument wouldn’t come up just yet.

“The Devil?”

“Don’t play stupid asshole!” Dean snapped and his eyes set on Sam’s shirt as if he wanted to light it on fire. So he recognized. Sam had no idea what kind of sentiment had gotten into him. “And that corn field? Seriously?! _Hello, Sam! Hi!_ What the fucking Hell is that?!”

“So what? It’s not that only I was lying!”

Dean was clearly taken aback by the accusation.

“Yes, Dean, I know! Didn’t you think it’d be, I don’t know, nice to tell me you bumped into Lucifer?”

“I thought I was fucking seeing things!”

“Would have been a nice warning though.” Sam smiled coldly.

“It’s not about that right now!”

“You lied to me too!”

“What the fuck’s up with Adam?!”

Sam would lie if he wasn’t a bit surprised. Their usual arguments about lying could drag out forever, but it was strange that all of a sudden Dean put Adam’s well-being first.

“I’ve told you, he’s fine. Lucifer won’t let any harm come to him. He likes him.”

“So that’s how they got out—“ Dean said slowly.

“He’s safe, I swear!” Sam interrupted quickly before that ominous look could bloom fully on Dean’s face. “Lucifer promised. Adam’s really off to Meds School, he has his friends, they don’t even remember, as if Adam’s never been missing.”

“And you trust fucking Lucifer on his goddamn word?! The last time he would have done anything to ride your ass to the Apocalypse!”

“He has changed,” Sam insisted, and desperately searched for snippets of truth that just didn’t reveal the forming depth of their relationship just fully. “He can be pretty nice actually. He, he watches over me and Adam too. No nightmares, no killings, nothing. That was one storm, no casualties, he just had to get used to being on Earth again—“

“You’re defending him?!”

“Dean – I mean come on. He’s painfully human. He likes, he hates—“

“At this point I think you could say this about all monsters.”

“No, but listen. When he was cast out Lucifer was like, like a kid, or – or a teenager tops. Affectionate and rebellious – like all teenagers, hell, I was no better –“ Sam saw Dean’s expression darken and his hands ball into fists at his side, but he set his shoulders stubbornly taking advantage of his three inches and went on, “Just think about it for a moment. Lucifer was cast out around the time when his personality was still forming. He was punished too fiercely –“

“For fuck’s sake, Sam, we are talking about fucking angels not normal kids!”

“He was thrown into loneliness, Dean!” Sam raised his voice to over speak his brother, “It would turn anyone bitter. Damn, I know! To be thrown out by your own father and away from your brother who doesn’t give a damn!”

“Oh come on, when did it become my fault that Lucifer is the damn Devil?!”

“That – It-!”Sam sputtered and he really had difficulties swallowing back the anger bubbling up inside him. “You make everything to be about you! Because you can’t think for anyone else, your empathy level is beyond pathetic.”

Dean gaped at him in astonishment.

“You are just like Michael! Dad’s orders, Dad said this, Dad needs you! As if! He didn’t need you. I needed you and you let me go and you didn’t come after me until it was about Dad again!”

“You wanted normal, for fuck’s sake do I have to remind you of that?” Dean snapped back but the desperation bled out of his voice quickly and it was replaced by anger and that little tremor of disappointment that always set Sam’s nerves on edge. “Would you rather I stopped you? You’d just blame me for that too!”

“I needed you Dean! I needed you to understand-!”

“I understood damn well-“

“No you didn’t. You left me alone! And so yes, I know what it’s like to be alone with your anger and doubts –“

“So what now? You’re best buddies with the Devil?” Dean cried and lunged forward, grabbed Sam by his shirt and slammed him up against the nearest wall. “What has he done to you?”

“Nothing.” Sam hissed and he was sure his eyes were sparkling with his own anger he couldn’t wipe out of his system, challenging Dean to try again and strap him up in Bobby’s panic room like he always did when he didn’t understand what was going on in Sam. “We talked.”

“You _talked_.” There wasn’t as much doubt in the world that could measure with the scepticism and cynicism in Dean’s voice at these two words.

“Yes. And you know it’s quite refreshing to talk to someone who’s actually listening to what you say.”

After a moment of pause that was barely enough for the words to scratch the surface of Dean’s mind he momentarily loosened his grip on Sam’s shirt but didn’t step back, just looked at his brother with a storm of emotions raging in his eyes.

“So what?” he asked quieter but sharp. “Now you’re taking the Devil over me? Over your own brother?” he chuckled wryly. “First a demon, now the Devil? Hell, only Crowley could make it worse!”

Sam saw red.

As if Dean had the right to sound offended in his face! He was the one who promised to trust Sam again and again, it was a seasonal thing that they would tear at each other’s throat because of secrets and broken promises and no matter how Sam loved his brother, he was about to lose faith in him. He clung to it with claws and teeth but while Sam gave his trust to his brother each and every time he abused it just as often.

“Maybe because I can at least trust him.”

Dean stammered back as if Sam had delivered a blow to his guts.

“He promised that he won’t lie to me,” Sam went on and he didn’t even try to brush away the satisfaction at the sight of horror and agony that settled on Dean‘s face at his words. “And he is the only one who hasn’t deceived me yet! You are my brother and I love you, but you lie to me all the time! Damn it, Dean it’s a seasonal thing! You promise you’ll trust me and tell me what’s going on but instead you are no better than Cas!”

For a moment Sam thought Dean would punch him in the face and he prepared himself for the blow and the taste of blood on his tongue – but instead Dean only stared at Sam for the flick of a second as if his heart had just been ripped out of his chest and Sam held it throbbing in his bloody hands. Then he turned away, grabbed his jacket and fished his phone out of his pocket.

His brother’s name was stuck in Sam’s throat as after half a moment of glaring at the phone, with all his might Dean hauled it at Sam. The device shattered into pieces next to Sam’s head.

By the time he opened his eyes again, the motel’s door slammed shut behind Dean’s back.

They parted without any kind of agreement.

Sam almost felt relieved.

~*~

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Dean will meet Michael face to face in this kind of mood...
> 
> (Don't get your hopes up though, that might take another eternity to write, because I really should concentrate on my thesis from now on :( )


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean meets Michael face to face for the first time since the Apocalypse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so it was quite unexpected that I could update (I'm so screwed with my thesis, but damn it feels good to have this done!) Next I'll update Green-eyed monster I hope :)
> 
> Please, enjoy!

**Dream of a Stairway to the Skies**

**chapter 8**

**_Poison & Wine_ **

 

****

Metallica blared from the speakers of the Impala and Dean just sat there in the middle of nowhere parked on the roadside that lead away from the cornfield with that obnoxious message burnt into it. He groaned and peeled his fingers off the steering wheel to rub them down his worn face. That stalled the rollercoaster that had been going on in his mind for the past half an hour. If he couldn’t keep them under control, he would start screaming. Probably. Or maybe jump to a suicide mission and hunt down Lucifer to strangle his vessel with his bare hands. Hopeless but still better than letting Sam—

He couldn’t believe Sam!

How could he?! He was so damn sure they had learnt this lesson!

Suddenly the sound of flattering wings made Dean jump.

“Damn it Cas!” he exclaimed and slammed his hands down on the wheel.  He would make it up to Baby somehow. Dean turned down the music.

Castiel sat calmly in his seat, staring ahead with the same solemn expression that was his default-setting.

“I have taken care of the field,” Cas said.

For that moment Dean didn’t believe he could be more grateful to hear the gravely tone. It sounded like home.

“However, I had to burn the whole of it. The writing was persistent.”

That explained the orangish red hue that painted the bottom of the horizon to their left.

“But is it safe now?” Dean asked tightly.

He felt sorry for the loss of the owner of the corns, but his and mostly Sam’s safety was more concerning. Enochian writing – it stood out if one knew what they were looking for, and it seemed likely that some of Raphael’s henchmen were watching the news, and what would it take for them to recognize Sam’s name? There was only one Sam in angel circles and that was Winchester. It was a risk neither them nor Castiel could afford. It was something that had to be done.

“We discovered it quite late, but it only had local media coverage. So I believe it is safe, yes.”

“Thanks man.”

“What are you planning to do now?” Cas asked after a long pause, both of them staring ahead and listening to the distant wail of sirens.

Dean pondered on it chewing the inside of his cheek.

“Do you think they know?”

Cas only squinted back at him.

“That Lucifer, that he is… back.”

The angel’s face darkened slightly and from the corner of his eyes he looked at Dean in the equivalent of nervous and uncomfortable unsure.

“There have been rumours,” he said slowly, “mostly in lower ranks and if it wasn’t for the writing I wouldn’t believe them either but…” Cas turned his bluer than blue piercing gaze on the hunter. “If they are right, there might be bigger problems than Lucifer alone.”

“What could be possibly worse than Satan being bff’s with Sam?”

“The Cage being empty.”

“You must be kidding!” Dean exclaimed and turned his begging eyes on Cas.

“It is no joke, Dean. It hasn’t been explained by whom or how but demons, too, started to whisper.”

“Fuck.”

“That might be a adequate way to put it.” Cas said sardonically.

Dean’s knuckles were turning white on the steering wheel and another pregnant silence engulfed them.

The hunter was the first to break, because while Cas was comfortable in the shelter of his observant silence, busy and seemingly alone with his thoughts, Dean had to do something or he would feel inclined to tear down either the Impala or Cas. He didn’t think either would be wise at this point. So he rather started the engine and turned on the road.

He was already driving on the highway when Cas re-emerged from his thoughts and the music Dean carefully set on deafening was turned down. At times like these Dean really hated angels and their mojo. He didn’t even have the chance to grab Cas’ wrist when he reached for the button, though it would have felt a tiny bit comforting. Some actual human contact.

“Have you considered that Michael might be out of the Cage as well?” Castiel asked carefully.

It was so unlike him that this fact alone made Dean grit his teeth.

“Yeah,” he growled.

It had been thrumming in his head like huge-ass drums in the depths of the earth that Sam suddenly compared him to Michael. Too out of the blue. Initially he thought it was just because with Lucifer automatically came his douchebag elder brother, but maybe it wasn’t so accidental.

Of course that wasn’t enough answer for Cas. The angel cocked his head to the side, impatiently. Dean sighed heavily and glared out the windshield as he answered.

“That’s why I’m going to check out the Adam-story.”

He didn’t know if he wanted Adam to be back or not at this point, but he was a good start. Even if he felt guilty that he had to meddle with his half-brother’s life. Again.

From the corner of his vision he saw Cas nod.

Then a blink later the angel was gone.

Dean wondered if it was possible to clench his jaw even tighter without crashing his teeth.

Long minutes and three tracks passed before Cas returned.

“Nice to have you back sunshine,” Dean snarked, but frowned immediately as he caught the stormy stern look on the angel’s face. He could barely squeeze the words past the lump that formed in his throat. “What’s happened?”

It couldn’t be…! Please don’t…

“The house is strongly warded.” Cas stated and turned his eyes on Dean. “If I didn’t know where and what I was looking for I surely wouldn’t have found anything.”

“Warded against angels?”

As if Sam had said something about that…

“Yes. And I mean it when I say _strongly_.”

“And Adam?”

“I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

“Damn it!”

“We’re lucky I found the house in the first place. I couldn’t glimpse inside.”

“But do you think he’s all right?”

“…Yes. I’m sure he is.”

Cas lied just as bad as ever before his Purgatory stunt.

~*~

It took a long argument to convince Cas that he shouldn’t just zap Dean to Windom that very moment, because he needed the drive to tame his thoughts and come up with a plan of action – Dean Winchester and a plan of action! – to which Cas tried to argue that then Dean would be as good as dead on his feet by the time they arrive, and if they had to fight then it was a very bad idea.

Dean reassured Cas that he was so worked up there was no way in Hell he could get any minute of shut eye unless he was shot dead.

Castiel looked him over, and Dean swore with lips pressed tightly together that Cas could inspect his kidneys all right with that gaze. But eventually he agreed that Dean would call him when he reaches Windom, then they will face whoever or whatever will greet them at the Milligan house.

~*~

Dean hopped out of the Impala as a vibrating ball of tension and bunch of naked nerves on two feet but as soon as he stepped up to the porch the line of his shoulders squared into his professional style, his anticipation hidden under the schooled features, jerky motions dissipating. He wasn’t about to march into a haunted house after all, his destination was the house where his half-brother lived after he returned from the dead – for the second time, seriously, the Winchesters made resurrection an Olympic sport. There was no denying after this that Adam was a Winchester. Even though said half-brother highly likely didn’t remember his family status. Hopefully. That would be probably for the best. Then Michael hadn’t rung in to ask for permission to wear him again.

He already rang the bell when he realized that he’d left his badge in the car and it would be too risky sending Castiel back for it; chances were that Adam opened the door when Cas just popped back next to Dean, and he knew it from personal experience what it did to even those who’d been trying to get used to it for a year. So he was left there with empty hands and absolutely no idea how to introduce himself to Adam and it didn’t help much either that he had an angel on his side with remarkably awkward social skills.

“Sorry, we don’t buy anything!“ Adam interrupted his train of thoughts as he opened the door.

“We are not here to sell –“

“Of course we aren’t,” Dean cut in and plastered a wide grin on his face after he sent a quick warning glare in the angel’s direction, who probably didn’t even notice it.

Adam seemed all right – thank fucking goodness!

 Though, that threw Dean a bit to the loop. Because while he knew how to save people, Hell, even how to tell them that a monster was breathing in their neck ready to tear them up in their sleep and then munch on their insides, how to talk with your little brother who didn’t even know he was your little brother…. well, it just wasn’t his forte.

“Hi, Adam, I wonder if you remember me –“

 “You’re Dean Winchester,” Adam deadpanned with furrowed brows as he turned his gaze to Castiel.

It was Dean’s turn to gape.

“Do you, ugh, _remember_ me?” he asked hesitantly, not exactly sure what kind of answer he’d like to hear.

“Not exactly,” Adam said with a strange expression of frustration on his face.

Well, Dean had expected – or at least hoped this much, otherwise he had a good chance for a bleeding nose or to find his brother at a mental asylum.

“But I still sort of know you,” Adam went on, “More than I’d feel comfortable with actually.”

_Nice family-reunion…_

“Yeah, okay. Great. Great, I suppose,” Dean said in the stretching silence. He didn’t like awkward silences, and Cas was still staring at the poor kid with his unwavering gaze and that was definitely a whole new level of grating. “Well, since you know me, this is my friend Castiel,” he pointed at Cas and cautiously elbowed him in the side to at least get him blink finally.

“Castiel, Angel of Thursday.”

The words barely rolled out to the open the knife was drawn from Dean’s pocket and the angel blade was glinting in Castiel’s hand.

The one standing in the hallway behind Adam was no one but the Archangel Michael.

“Fuck! Not again!” Adam cried out in surprise and leapt to the side out of the crossfire.

“There is no need for violence,” Michael said, showing his open palms in the universal sign of peace.

“Oh there certainly is.” Dean hissed and stared eye to eye with young John Winchester. 

However, the eyes and the tone, the way he held himself was anything but his father. He carried power and arrogance, used to his voice to command and that made even this small offering sound like a demand, something that made Dean itch to obey, to bow down, to fall to his knees –

He was unmistakably I-m-so-much-greater-than-thou-Chief-of-Heaven-Michael.

“I have all and one more reasons to gank your ass, so you’d better—“

Before he could finish his threat he froze in place. His throat felt tight, it was way too similar to those times angels demonstrated their power over him, grasping and tearing at his insides with their mojo making him cough up blood if not straight out his lungs. However, this time the anticipated taste of iron and salt and the thick liquid didn’t strangle his throat. He turned his astonished gaze to Michael, who meanwhile lowered his hands to his sides and now looked at him with a strange expression. It was such a strange mixture, and Dean refused with all his might to call any fracture of that amused glint and the slight upturn of those lips as fondness.

“You should remember Dean Winchester that I could erase your existence from the face of this earth for insulting me,” Michael said, his voice firm but smooth just as it was back in 1978. “But I do not intend to hurt you. My apologies for interrupting you.”

Apologies, my ass! Dean cussed as he finally took in a huge gulp of air and from the corner of his eyes he saw that Cas was in no better position, and as the angel raised his head his eyes were confused, but the unmistakeable admiring gleam was there in their depths.

“Okay, what about, what about we bring this little drama inside?” Adam cut in quickly, his voice strained in its flippant style, he was obviously nervous and there was a thin layer of sweat over his brow and he averted his eyes to glare at Michael.

_What?_

For a long moment Dean and Michael just stared at each other as if they were gauging their odds before a fight, but eventually Michael stepped to the side, only his eyes shining bright in the semi-darkness of the hallway. With an exasperated sigh Adam urged Dean and Castiel into the house.

To say that the air in the living room was tense would be claiming Dean Winchester was the happiest and most content man on Earth.

Michael sat in an armchair, posture open and with the glint of superior power in his eyes that made Dean bristle inside, but at least he kept quiet while Dean tried to initiate a conversation with Adam. (Castiel tried to make himself invisible in the corner, his eyes flickering from Michael’s unmoving form to Dean.)

“Your friend,” Adam nodded in Cas’ direction, “He could sit down too, you know.”

“Uh, I think he has spent enough time sitting idly,” Dean said. He didn’t feel comfortable talking instead of Cas, because he wasn’t his master or whatever, but Cas seemed too busy staring a hole into Michael’s front.

“So. How are you, Adam?”

Adam looked at him with one sardonically arched eyebrow.

“Alive.” Adam didn’t hide the satisfaction at Dean’s flinch too well. “Enjoying the break from school. Meeting friends. Working. Occasional splitting headaches, but fine. I hope you’re not here to ruin my life again.”

“No! God, I really hope not!” Dean tried to wave it off with a wry laugh, but Adam didn’t seem impressed. The only person who seemed more or less to enjoy himself was the one who could fuck up Adam’s new life. Again. “Look, Adam, I’m really-really sorry for what’s happened to you,” Adam scoffed and crossed his arms on his chest in defiance. “And trust me, I wish I could—“

Dean’s ears perked at the sound of something rattling in the other room.

“What’s that?”

“Lunch.” Adam answered curtly, and in a second he was on his feet, “If you don’t mind.”

Without waiting for their reply Adam was out of the living room.

Dean glanced around, Michael didn’t seem ready to move anytime soon, and after changing a meaningful look with Cas, he emerged to talk to his brother in more private. Let’s say, when the greatest danger of his well-being wasn’t in the same room.

“Adam.”

“What is it?” the boy suddenly disappeared in a cloud of steam as he picked up the lid of a saucepan.

“I’m terribly sorry. For everything.” Dean said and his gaze hung on the back of Adam’s neck, his fingers wringing on the backside of a chair. “I really wish I could help. I really do, but Death was only willing to bring back one of you and—“

“I get it, all right?” Adam turned on his heels, wooden spoon in one hand, features closed off but still pained. “I’m not Sam, I’m not your brother, and I can’t help you save the world, I’m not even family so what?”

Dean wanted to cry out that fuck, of course Adam was family, but instead he swallowed the words.

“It’s better this way. For you.” was what he said instead. Silent, his words nearly lost in the gurgle of the water on the gas stove.

“What are you doing here, then? I thought keeping me safe consisted of not dragging me back into the world of fucking nightmares.”

“One’s just sitting in your living room as if he owned the place.”

“What, Michael? They are no threat, really.”

“ _They_?”

“Michael and Lucifer,” Adam shrugged, as if that was the most natural thing on this plane. “They have been living here ever since we are out of the Cage. Don’t ask me how, I have no idea. They took camp here.”

That was a bit too much neutrality for Dean to wrap his head around. This ease Adam took the supernatural things crossing his path with was really unsettling.

“You are aware that they are the archangel Michael and Satan who try to blow up the planet, aren’t you?”

“Dean, seriously—“

“No, Adam, you listen! I don’t know what they have done to you, but they are no good. They are the biggest damn threats to this world, and they definitely aren’t your buddies!”

“And you just want to kill Michael? Huh? Here? In my house? Please, go ahead! Blow up the house again, and then just forget about I ever existed!”

“Adam—“

“I get it, okay? I get so much more than I feel comfortable with, but that’s all. I can take care of myself. I’ve spent the past year in prison with these two winged bastards, and I survived just fine. I spent the past two weeks with them too, and if you’re so sure they mean bad, why is my life so much better than it’s ever been?”

“…They are living with you.”

“Yes, and you know what? Lucifer is disgusting he’s so much in love with Sam, all right? I’ve listened to his rants and I really want to punch him in the face for that. Michael made sure everyone, including me, remembers me and Mom alive for the past two years. I have friends, I have a normal life.”

Dean hung his head and concentrated on breathing. Deep in, deep out. Evenly. He slowly unwrapped his fingers from the chair – they ached. He looked Adam in the eye, searching for any signs of possession, because it was too crazy.

He found nothing.

“All right. I’m sorry. For whatever. Everything.”

After a long moment of glaring at Dean Adam nodded and averted his eyes.

“Working on forgiving.”

~*~

“He seems okay.” Dean muttered as he returned from the kitchen, leaving Adam to his pasta. He turned begging eyes on Castiel. “He’s not like Sam, is he?”

“He is in absolute possession of his soul.”

Thank fuck! Adam seemed way too passionate anyway.

“But how can that be? Sam – Sam was in total agony when he got back his soul, it was so damaged after the Cage.” Dean’s voice grew close to a whisper in the end. He didn’t even realize how the anger took over him only during the short walk between the two rooms. His form was taut as a bow pulled for a shoot, and his hand at his side was balled into a tight fist. His eyes flashed at Michael. “Is – is it another fucking wall?”

“It…” Castiel sighed and over his shoulder he too glanced at Michael.

The archangel sat still just staring ahead, but even despite that Dean couldn’t get rid of the prickling feeling at the back of his neck that sang about a scrutinizing gaze.

“Dean, I do not know. I’d have to investigate further,” Cas looked seriously at Dean. “But you know the consequences.”

Dean swallowed hard. He did. He did too well. He remembered how Sam trashed, groaned and cried out in pain, the rigid stillness of his body just before it broke under the agony of his soul being touched by a foreign deity. He didn’t wish such torture on Adam. He would give anything to spare Adam such thing. It was already way too much the boy had to go through…

“If his soul is not damaged beyond repair,” Michael spoke up, his voice even and smooth, yet it had a chill run down Dean’s back, “archangels have the power to put memories so deep in the mind that they cannot be found.”

“I thought you could erase them,” Dean noted dryly.

“It is the closest way to put it, yes.” Michael nodded. “There is a whole well-constructed labyrinth to keep painful memories to file back to the surface of consciousness. Walls, that should not come crumbling down at any prodding, not even by seeing your face, no matter how strong your brotherly connection is.”

It apparently wasn’t that strong, Dean sucked on his teeth.

“But he still remembers me.”

“Adam knows where he had been, yes. He remembers vague feelings. Impressions. He remembers anger. Being treated as a child. Disappointment. A sparkle of joy that he is family.”

For the moment as Michael stood in one fluid motion – as if he hadn’t even moved at all! – and turned his bright, cold green eyes on Dean it was only the two of them in a closed off pocket-universe surrounded by the smooth words licking at him like crystal clean water.

“Why don’t you mention the pain and the torture you’ve put him through, huh?”

“Because he has absolutely no recollection of such.” Suddenly, Michael’s eyes flashed silver. “But he remembers disappointment. Abandonment—“

“It’s not my fault!” Dean snapped and the charm was instantly broken. “It wasn’t my fault that you wanted to kill your brother so much! I told you to get some therapy and leave my planet alone! And you just took my brother because you couldn’t have me as a meatsuit and now—“

“I really wished you had said ‘yes’ to me, Dean.”

“Oh, I have no doubt.” Dean’s voice dropped to a dangerous level of low. “But newsflash, douchebag! I never ever fucking will.”

“You still fight me.”

“Until my last breath.”

Dean only realized how close they had been when he turned his head at a gasp from the doorway of the living room. They had been standing toe-to-toe panting the same breath – or at least Dean was, while Michael stood still, with his unwavering gaze set on his face calm and cold. Maybe a tiny flicker of a sad smile curled at the edge of his lips, but Dean hated him way too much even just to consider that wandering observation.

There was Kate Milligan standing in the doorway, awkwardly in her own home.

“Hi,” she said, and her eyes flickered between the two men embarrassingly and uncomfortably close to each other. “You must be Adam’s friends – uh, I just saw the Impala outside, and I thought… Never mind.”

Yet, she eyed them still.

The penny dropped for Dean.

“The Impala is mine,” he said, and quickly switched the angry glower to a charming even if not too wide smile. “John passed away a good five years ago. I’m his son, Dean Winchester.”

“Oh. I – He never said he had another son.”

“Neither did he speak about Adam.”

They shook hands.

“And him?” Kate asked and waved in Michael’s direction. “Is he your brother too? You sure have some looks in common.”

Dean glanced at Michael, and really wished glares could kill. But the archangel was still there, still wearing his father, and still as impassioned as before.

“Uhm, no, no. He is – a cousin. We, well, aren’t really on best terms,” heated argument explained, Dean patted himself on the shoulder, “but hey, cutting back on the gas when travelling together.”

“Hi Mom,” Adam chose that moment to enter and direct the attention on himself. He pressed a quick kiss to Kate’s cheek. “How was work?”

“Tiring,” she smiled at her son. “But imagine! One more course and I’ll get promoted. Better wage, less shifts.”

“That’s great, Mom!”

Dean didn’t miss how Adam’s gaze shifted to Michael, and the pure joy and gratitude in his eyes just made Dean ball his hands into tight fists and muster a smile. He didn’t know why he felt so – no, not jealous – uncomfortable in his skin.

“So you also met Dean and Michael. Quick family meet-up, huh?”

 “We were just passing by, and couldn’t really miss out on checking in on Adam,” Dean said with a charming smile.

“Oh, no, I mean, it’s no trouble,” Kate said and a bit nervously tucked a stray braid behind her ear. Her eyes were trained on Michael. “It’s just, for so long it’s only been the two of us and all of a sudden it’s a lot of us.”

“We won’t stay long, I promise.”

“But Michael—“ Adam started, he probably didn’t want it to come out that breathless, but it did in the sudden pause.

Dean scowled at him, he really wanted to avoid the topic of explaining Michael further than an annoying cousin and then somehow dragging him away from Adam and the Milligan home.

“Uhh, really, sorry for the scene you had to walk in to, Mrs. Milligan—“

“It’s just Kate,” she injected, and chewed on her lips, his gaze flickering from Dean to Michael and Adam back and forth.

“Kate then, so, see, we were just arguing with Michael, because he’s just about to start his business around and—“

“And I just offered, he could stay here,” Adam said quickly.

Everyone stared at him in that moment. Well, everyone on their own respective manners, Castiel squinted from the background, totally invisible at this point, Kate cocked her eyebrows in expectant surprise, even Michael’s smug mask of indifference melted into surprise, while Dean couldn’t decide if he should be proud of his little brother’s lying skills, how naturally it came to him, or rather be furious, because come on! The kid was actively working against him! Or be worried for yet another sibling. Clearly sanity didn’t run in that part of the family.

“I mean, it’d help him, and I wouldn’t be alone that much,” Adam hurried to explain taking advantage of Dean’s shock.

Before Kate could agree to his son’s puppy eyes (honestly, it must be from the Winchester bloodline) Dean quickly stepped in.

“I just said why it was such a bad idea. You clearly don’t need anyone living with you, family or whatever, you don’t even know us, and no offense, but my cousin can be of a dick more often than not—“

“How kind of you, Dean,” Michael said, speaking up for the first time, and Dean cursed.

Because fucking hell, the bastard had this low drawl, charming and with that tiny tilt to the head and a frown, he looked so disappointed that for the moment being Dean just felt he was chopping the tree beneath himself!

“We really shouldn’t bother you much longer,” Dean turned back to Kate, desperate to outcharm the archangel. “After all we just dropped in to say hi.”

“No, please, stay. I’ll  make some snack and—“

“You really shouldn’t. You must be tired after work.”

“No worries, Mom. I already made lunch. It’s all right.”

 “Leave it,” Kate waved them both away. “What better time to get to know the family better.”

Dean was about to give it a final shot, or if he reached all wit’s end, he still could ask Cas to knock her out with his angel mojo and _then_ wrangle Michael’s holy ass away somehow, but for Father-of-the-millennium-God’s sake the Milligans were crazy for Michael under their roof! By the time he looked up next Kate was already out and clattering in the kitchen with Adam in tow, Michael close to follow.

With a glance shared with Castiel, Dean rushed out from the living room, quick to catch Michael before he was safe again, and also fast so that he couldn’t change his mind. Intuitive was his best and worst trait after all.

His heart was thundering in his chest but he managed to corner Michael in the hall. Any monster walking the rocky surface of this goddamned earth would shudder in terror at the light glinting in his eyes, but not Michael. The archangel, and damn, there was just no way Dean could mistake him for his father, stood in the corner, two walls from one side and the staircase from the other and Dean up in his face, blocking his way entirely, and he still had the nerves to look back at Dean with ease. Almost expectant. He was clearly more than aware that the hunter could do him no harm, yet, he was generous enough to humour him.

It only fuelled Dean’s anger and didn’t deter him from towering over Michael as threatening as he could.

“I’m not in the mood to play around, buttercup. What’s your game?”

Michael crossed his arms and tilted his head slightly in a so-angelic gesture, but it was enough for Dean that a tiny part of him started quivering in the devastating feeling of insignificance.

“On what ground do you dare to order me?” when Dean missed his second to respond, Michael went on. “Just because once you defeated my brother through sheer luck? Don’t be so full of yourself.”

“The last time I checked you were in the Cage as well, locked up tight and secure.”

“One time occurrence, I promise,” Michael said blankly with a dangerous dead smile. “And if it wasn’t for me Adam would still be there.”

Dean felt like going through an entire battle not to bite on that one. It was all Michael’s fault Adam had to go to Hell, and there was no angel charm to convince him otherwise.

 “Spit it out!” he demanded, but his voice was barely above a hiss, cold and nothing like the turmoil of emotion that was eating him up. “What are you doing here on Earth wearing my Dad?”

For a moment Michael just looked back at him, expression carefully blank and calculating, then without his features actually morphing his expression settled on something condescending, pitying and yet, coldly amused.

“Where else should I be?”

 “Oh, I don’t even know, maybe in Heaven? Making order since your little brother fucked up royally.”

“If I wanted to make order in Heaven I would start it here by killing Castiel,” Michael stated calmly.

Dean riled back. He honestly had expected anything but this, and in his astonishment he couldn’t even react immediately.

“But you could be at ease,” Michael interrupted him when he finally opened his mouth to swear the angel wouldn’t get away with it. “I’m not going anywhere near Heaven.”

If anything it was even more unsettling.

“Why?!”

“How cheeky you have become,” Michael said, his cold eyes on Dean. “Should I remind you that now you don’t serve as my true vessel anymore?”

Dean scoffed. “Says you.” The tables were indeed turned, but in his understanding it was different because Sam’s life didn’t depend on Michael’s mood.

After a short pause of seizing Dean up with his gaze Michael replied slowly. “Would you kill one of your brothers to save the other?”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“I just got back my brother, Lucifer. If I went back to Heaven I would have to choose which one I want to kill.”

“The last time we spoke you didn’t have much trouble with that.”

The devastating look Michael sent him reminded Dean of the first time they spoke. One of them in the wrong time…

Cold lead settled drop by drop in his stomach.

“It was during the days of the Apocalypse.”

Dean scoffed. He was so fed up with this song.

“I don’t want to fight any more of my family, Dean,” Michael pronounced every single word with momentum. They were heavy on the angel’s tongue. Heavy and powerful. “This is why I never asked Adam to be my vessel. At this point it would only take his yes to kill Lucifer, who would die sooner than to ask Sam again for being his vessel.  With Adam in the good time, I could end it all.” Michael spread his arms, “But you see. It is none of my intentions.”

“Don’t dare to lie to me!” Dean hissed, his eyes flashing in the dark, his hands balled into tight balls; he wanted to slam Michael up against the wall, hear the air rush out of his lungs and see his face crumble – but he had to remind himself how bad of an idea it was.

Michael seemed to know what was crossing Dean’s mind, and Dean was sure he was seeing things from the anger at this point. Michael almost seemed disappointed at the lack of physical contact. The bastard pulled his lips up into a smirk.

“What is the saying? The truth can be wilder than imagination.”

What the fuck? There was no way Michel was being flirtatious!

“I don’t trust you,” Dean stated taking another step away as if the angel was some kind of disease.

“Adam does. I don’t want to hurt him, he deserves another chance at life.”

“He’d never have it with angels on his shoulders.”

“Would you rather I left and Raphael came for him to blackmail you?”

“You son of a bitch!”

Adam surfaced from the kitchen just in time before Dean could do something stupid. Like breaking his hands on Michael’s jaw.

~*~

After the most awkward lunch ever, where Dean failed (again) to convince Kate and Adam how bad idea it was to accommodate Michael – and then Lucifer hadn’t even come up (Adam kicked him in the shin _strong_ when he gave it an attempt) Dean found himself face to face with Michael. Alone in the hall.

Dean couldn’t lie. It was terrifying.

"Why do you always assume I want to hurt you, Dean?" Michael asked, all syllables carefully pronounced. That's how royalty spoke. That's how a general spoke. And Dean, as much as he desperately wanted, couldn't fight this voice. He had always been trained to become the perfect soldier after all.

"Because that's all you dicks are capable of," he said, his own voice rough and just barely not shivering.

There were a thousand images flashing in his mind, reminding him that he was defiant, he was rebellious and he was to be punished for that. He remembered Anna being burnt to blue dead coal and ashes. Cas blowing up in tiny bloody pieces of meat. Sam and Adam falling.

Even if it was still true that he was the one, the true vessel of Michael, it only meant that he could not be smitten on the spot. But there was no one to grab Michael's hand if he decided it was time to teach him a lesson in obedience. Torture him until he broke, and he knew that he would. He _had_ once after all. There was no guarantee how long he could hold up again--

But he was Dean Winchester, and even the threat of another trip to Hell couldn't make him drop to his knees and suck Michael's dick.

He was waiting for the fatal blow when—

His eyes flew open when Michael ran a gentle fingertip along his knitted brows.

"You are wrong," Michael said. His eyes swarmed with myriad of colour, a galaxy of stars all twinkling down at Dean.

"Oh I'm not," Dean sucked his teeth. He wouldn't fall for it, no matter how heady it made him feel to be the centre of a universe. He was over such tricks. "You are monsters, just like the other bitches I hunt."

"Yet you surround yourself with monsters."

"You son of a bitch! Cas is different."

"That, indeed, is true," Michael nodded and his expression closed back up into smug seriousness. "And I intend to show you how so."

"Only I won't give you a damn chance!"

"Dean. You were made for me. Perfect and crafted as mine alone. You really think you have a choice?"

"I do, and you know why?" Dean hissed lowly, "Because everything I and Sam have done? Defying your precious Destiny. And I won't suck it up. I won't lie down and wait for my fate. So fuck you, and if you so much as try to hurt my family," Dean stepped deep into Michael's personal space, "take it from me, I will hunt you down."

The smile that spread on Michael’s lips haunted Dean at every mile of the drive away from Minnesota. It was suddenly so full, bursting, like a star blowing up. It was truly overwhelming.

“Measuring dicks again, guys? Seriously?” Adam sneered from the bottom of the stairs. “I really don’t want to witness you two getting at it in the lobby.”

Dean glared at Adam. That was—

Next second Michael was gone.

 “Have you seen Cas?” Dean asked, because he really, really didn’t need pictures of whatever Adam was suggesting.

“He already said goodbye. I think he’s waiting in the car.”

“I should be going too, then.”

He already opened the door when Adam called after him. Dean turned back with a carefully unreadable expression.

“You know, uh, you could drop by now and then. You and Sam. Both.”

Dean couldn’t help his lips twitching.

“What about we bring doom wherever we go?”

“It’s not like it could be worse than having to explain Mom why Lucifer is popping in and out.” Seeing the cloud that suddenly passed over Dean’s eyes Adam hurriedly continued. “Anyway I can’t be any brighter beacon than Michael living here. And Mom seems to like you. Even despite that crazy showdown you had with Michael at lunch. You both totally swooned her.”

“Our family’s cursed, Adam,” Dean warned one last time. But it was only half-assed.

Adam knew that too, so he only shrugged. “We went both to Hell. What could be worse?”

“Family reunions, huh?”

“I’ve never really had one.”

“Me either.” Dean grinned, and he imagined how Sam would perk up at the idea. Which brought back the memories of their fight. Time for damage control. “Take care until then.” He placed a hand on Adam’s shoulder. “If anything’s off with these bastards,” he nodded inside, “Call us. Or better, pray to Cas. We’ll be here in a blink.”

“There’s no need.” Adam assured him and slipped out of his brother’s hold. “I trust them.”

“I hope they appreciate it.”

~*~

“You offered them to come back?” Michael asked.

“You’re welcome.” Adam answered smugly as he plopped down on the couch turning on the TV.

Even daytime television was better than tuning into Michael’s swarming thoughts of the colour of Dean’s eyes, how his soul glowed so bright in them and so alike. Though he had to admit, it was a nice change to have Michael, dare he say, happy.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed :)
> 
> Again, I can't promise when I'll update, because finishing my BA is a tad bit more stressful than all the other years combined.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is from Coldplay's Viva la Vida
> 
> I'm not really happy with how it came out in the end, but I just can't sit on it any longer. Please enjoy!

**Dream of a Stairway to the Skies**

**chapter 9**

**_One minute I held the key – Next the walls were closed on me_ **

Suddenly, lips still locked with Sam’s Lucifer went very, very still. The body growing cold and rigid over him was enough for the hunter’s instincts to kick in and a second later he lay just as motionless, ears perking for the tiniest sound hand slipping under his pillow for the blade he got from Lucifer.

All was silent except for the scarce sound of a car passing by the motel. Sam glanced up at Lucifer’s profile. The angel’s gaze penetrated the door but he didn’t move.

Sam guessed it couldn’t be such a big threat, otherwise Lucifer would have smitten the whole place hours ago. With the blade in one hand he rolled out of bed the soft whisper of the sheets following him and padded carefully to the door. He swallowed, wrapped his fingers around the doorknob and counted three before he jerked it open.

He found himself face to face with Dean. The look on his brother’s face froze the blood in his veins.

Dean’s gaze took him in but immediately skidded to swipe across the room then zero in on Lucifer. Sam didn’t have the time to gasp as Dean slammed his bloody hand against the angel-sigil on the door.

Both of them had to turn their heads to cover their eyes from the flash of white light.

“What the Hell Dean?!” Sam snapped outraged.

But Dean only stared passed him with wide, disbelieving eyes.

“Don’t think the same trick works twice on me,” Lucifer said, his voice smooth as ice.

“You son of a bitch!” Dean growled. “What are you doing here?!”

“Healing what you break.”

Lucifer waved and both Sam and Dean were pulled into the room and the door slammed behind them, now clear of the bloody sigil.

“Running the same rounds, are you?” Dean gritted out, fingers tightening around his bowie-knife.

“Dean, we’ve been over this.” Sam warned sharply. His own body was tense like a bow waiting for the second to launch into action. He only wasn’t sure who he will have to hold back.

“I’m not here with malicious intentions.”

Dean’s mouth pulled into a disdainful sneer.

“And I truly believe you.”

Only from the corner of his vision did Sam catch sight of a dirty trench coat, the glint of silver, but Lucifer was quicker. He turned in a flash and immediately one hand was wrapped around Castiel’s throat, his thumb pressing on his pulse that now fluttered like a captured little bird, while with his other he successfully blocked Castiel’s blow.

“Brother, please. Don’t force my hand.” Lucifer asked.

Castiel struggled to free himself but soon his blade fell from his hand and he had to succumb to Lucifer’s strength.

Sam was about to call out in fear of his friend’s well being when realization hit him. It wasn’t the angel blade lying on the carpet.

It was in Dean’s hand and he charged at Lucifer’s back.

“Stop!” Sam cried and moved before he could properly think it through.

He threw himself between the two, Dean slammed into Sam’s shoulder, but his blow was already in motion, thrusting upward just to dip into the fallen angel under his shoulder blades. Sam reached out blindly, trying to dodge the blade. He felt pain, it cut through his whole being like a lightning bold the night sky and a hiss escaped through his lips—

Then everything froze mid-motion.

Sam looked down. He had his fingers wrapped around the blade its edge cutting deep into the meat of his palm. Slowly a lazy, thick red droplet rolled down and fell from the silvery tip.

“Sammy.” Dean whispered brokenly behind him. The sword dangled from his hand and clank to the ground. “I didn’t—God, I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry!”

But Dean’s shock was nothing compared to the cold fury that radiated from Lucifer.

The angel threw Castiel against the wall before he turned to Sam. His eyes were wide, grace glowing and swirling in their depths hot-white and icy blue, his lips thinned and his fingers shook as they tenderly reached out to touch Sam’s wrist to see to the damage.

It was a clear, deep cut. With Lucifer’s freezing fingertips at the edges of the wound it hurt even more, it didn’t matter that they barely touched. Sam’s hand was throbbing with each pump of his heart.

Lucifer’s gaze flashed at Dean.

The hunter didn’t seem defiant anymore. He faced Lucifer’s anger with round, tear-rimmed eyes that hung more on Sam’s injury than on the bringer of his impending cruel death.

Sam didn’t plan on letting things escalate that far.

“Lucifer. Lucifer, stop!” Sam demanded, voice eerily calm and even with the barely invisible shudder of nerves at the edges.

Lucifer’s attention was immediately back on him.

Sam put a comforting palm on the angel’s marble-cold shoulder. “I want you to leave. Go back to Adam and calm down.” His eyes darted to Dean. “I have to talk to my brother. Without you killing him.”

The air quivered. Ice flakes swarmed in a crystal-like twister and Lucifer disappeared.

The room grew quiet.

“Sammy, I’m sorry!” Dean exclaimed when he couldn’t take the tension any longer.

Sam shook his head dismissively, though his jaw was still tight, teeth clenched to the brink of breaking.

“Can you stay here without mentioning what you have just seen?”

“What—? Sam! Satan snogging my brother in my absence is not something—“

“You want to help Cas, right?”

“Of- of course! But—“

“Then I ask again: Can you keep it off the table or either of us will have to leave again.”

Dean bit the inside of his cheek so hard he could taste blood spilling heavy, metallic, and salty over his tongue. He was bristling inside, like embers that were once covered with ashes and just got a new breath of fresh air. He tried to swallow back the burning sparks of red and gold that gathered behind the fence of his teeth.

Sam was being stupid again. How couldn’t he see that his hopelessly romantic and optimist heart would be his demise one day? Letting the Devil into your bed? His head had been wrong enough, his skin, his mind, his being, but this? A heart was worse than anything—

His gaze fluttered to Cas. Castiel, who gathered himself and now stood at the sidelines watching his two friends bicker, and he was worried for them. (Worried _and_ pissed that they were still like toddlers in the sandbox fighting for the green shovel – if Dean really had to make a guess.) It had been decided from the start. Cas came first this time.

“I can,” he gritted out. That done and off the table, he pushed his way passed his gigantic son of a bitch of a brother. He needed a drink.

“Sam,” Castiel stepped up to the younger Winchester.

“Cas!” Sam flinched a bit away so that the angel wasn’t that deep in his personal space. Dean could take it, but he still wasn’t that used to it. “You – ugh, are you okay, with… this?”

If Castiel wasn’t, and now knowing that Lucifer is on the field as well he would reject their help, accusing Sam of treachery for sleeping with the enemy, that wouldn’t only leave Sam devastated, but would inevitably tear all three of them apart. Dean would have to choose, and knowing him, he would stick with Sam, because it was his goddamn duty, but would try his best to talk Sam into stabbing Lucifer in the borrowed-heart. That—that he couldn’t take.

He looked at Cas with pleading eyes tinted with defiance.

The angel did his trademark tilt-and-squint.

“Lucifer’s presence on Earth makes me uncomfortable. Very uncomfortable.” Castiel said. “But both his and Michael’s intentions seem far away from the Apocalypse. My trust for Lucifer doesn’t go to the same extent as yours, Sam. But… I have hope in you.”

A heavy stone rolled off Sam’s chest.

“Thank you, Cas!” At the moment he could hug the angel. God, it felt good to have someone trusting in his judgement!

Cas nodded tightly, but there was also a soft shadow of a secret smile Sam, too, grew slowly to pick up.

“May I?” Cas tentatively reached out for Sam’s injured hand.

Now that it was brought to his attention again it started to throb with each drop of blood that painted the length of it.

“Yeah. Uh, thanks.”

 

~*~

 

Having breakfast with Michael proved to be a very nice thing, Adam concluded.

They picked up the habit after the Prince of Heaven stuttered out a miserable apology for his attempt at breaking Adam’s neck a week ago, and after that Adam was still a generous host enough to help Michael over his monstrous hangover. It got something settled between them.

After that terrifying, and hopefully only one-time, escapade Adam was ready to kick Michael out, or just for his own sake avoid him for good. Because watching Michael go crazy and bloodthirsty? Scarier than Lucifer could ever get. But Adam was a good man, and then when the archangel was totally out of this world hopelessly trying to tackle a panic attack (there was just no better way Adam could name the glazed out eyes, the heavy shallow breathing and his hands clutching the doorframe until it cracked) Adam took it on himself to settle Michael.

It turned out, as a possible vessel, his presence was soothing.

After about an hour of protest and proud silence, Michael admitted that his head felt like bursting. A banging pain he couldn’t heal, and it was (terrifyingly) new. He had never taken a vessel for this long, and his grace, though slipping still present felt constricted and it was driving Michael crazy.

Adam coerced some painkillers down his throat – it was a vessel thing, he reasoned and Michael had to surrender to such logic – and they were back to normal.

Michael’s head full of Dean Winchester and cruelly repressed feelings (especially now, after he had seen the Winchester face to face), silent and observant, but in the morning he was an all right companion.

Seeing him pull a disgusted face on Adam’s cereal was a sight to behold!

“So, Michael, I’ve been wondering,” Adam started.

Michael looked back at him with a slightly cocked eyebrow.

“How long until you finally detach yourself from my brain?”

“I am not attached to you in any kind,” Michael answered slowly, but frowned, and his unwavering gaze skidded to the tabletop.

Adam was slightly worried if he needed to go fetch a new dining table before his mom returned from shopping, in case Michael managed to burn the object to ashes with his eyes.

He might have stuck a sensitive nerve, because this passive-aggressive silence sort of grew unusual between them, but he just shrugged. Maybe the archangel just realized he wasn’t a morning person and hadn’t discovered the wonders of caffeine yet.

“Am I affecting you in any ways?”

Adam nearly choked on his cereal when he tried to scoff at that in a knee-jerk reaction. He wanted to say _Nah, man. Nothing. Really. I just have horrible headaches from all the crazy shit going through your celestial wave-lengths, I have horrible nightmares and I’m about to worry I’m developing a crush on my own brother thanks to you,_ but for the time being he wondered if Michael understood cynicism. Lucifer hinted quite enough that Michael was a bit ceremonious…

“To answer your concerns: I have no idea what sarcasm is,” Michael told him on his usual tone, the voice on which he could threaten Lucifer to strike him with lightning and state that the weather was nice. But right now there was this tiny quirk to his eyebrow and a light shadow at the edge of his lips that gave him away.

“You think you are funny, huh?”

For a fleeting second Michael’s expression softened. All pity and contempt slipped away, and a foreign shade of fondness painted his features. Then as it came it was already gone. Grey rainclouds gathered on his forehead and his eyes darkened into eternal sadness with the thin dome of indifferent resignation over it.

“I am sorry for what I put you through, Adam,” Michael said, and for this very moment, the way he apologized, Adam bristled at how similar he sounded to his brother.

“I can manage,” Adam shrugged, but his voice was thick. It was rather overwhelming.

Michael shook his head.

“My grace resonates with your soul, and because of your compassionate nature, your understanding and will to help, you pick up on my state. It is rather unfortunate.”

\-- _It could be worse._

“Meh, no. I’m nothing like that.” Adam protested, waving his spoon. “You just like being all flourish. I’m just a normal guy, nothing special.”

A small smile formed on Michael’s lips, this time for real.

“You are a fine example why my Father told us to love your kind. You remind me why I bowed first before you.”

Before Adam could start to protest, or maybe just lean back smugly with a witty come back, who knew what would come out of his mouth at this point, Lucifer burst into the kitchen and left Adam blinking away the colourful strikes and spots from his vision.

Lucifer looked like the scariest toddler who was just sent into the corner to think about his wrong doings, just on the verge of throwing a tantrum. Yet, murder lingered in his eyes, but it was less cold than just for the sake of seeing blood painting his hands red. Adam shuddered when Lucifer’s narrowed eyes flashed at him—

“Lucifer,” Michael called out the angel’s name, but to no avail. His eyes were still boring into Adam’s soul—

All the hatred the fallen angel had ever embraced in his solitary cell, in that cage of icy flames and ashes that filled the lungs and dulled the colours of everything nice, the disdain he cherished into the plan of demise and destruction brought on humanity thundered in his eyes.

All the benign, the charm, the understanding sympathy Lucifer had ever showed while he lived with Adam was gone—

“—Brother?”

Snapping out of the trance the world seemed to calm as well.

Michael had his hand wrapped around Lucifer’s wrist – it reminded Adam of that time Lucifer was banished by Dean for the first time and Michael just managed to hold him back from blowing up the town, but now the elder’s face was laced with concern, his brows furrowed in a marble-like fashion, but his hold on Lucifer wasn’t bruising this time. It was solely an anchor. Physical presence, reassurance that it wasn’t the Fall again.

Now however, it was Michael’s hand cracking with fire glowing and running under the thin layer of skin.

Lucifer tore his hand away from Michael’s hold with an irritated grunt.

“Only for you, Michael,” Lucifer hissed coldly, “For you and Sam…”

“I know.” Michael said placating. His hand was healed.

“You don’t know a thing! You know nothing!” Lucifer snapped. “You have never been ripped apart! Again and again, from everything. Do something with him, Michael, or next time, I swear—“ Lucifer trailed off, and feathers ruffled he started pacing the length of the room mumbling under his breath hands balled into tight fists.

Adam couldn’t help the feeling of anxiety growing within. He had never seen Lucifer like that. Like a caged animal frustrated, concealed raw power, anger, burning – the world burning up from the poles in freezing flames—

Warmth and serenity washed over him in lazy, gentle waves.

Eyes rounded in surprise and a small flash of awe he looked at Michael, who glanced back at him with equal concern as he followed his brother’s pacing. After a long look, Michael turned his head to concentrate fully on Lucifer since he could be sure that Adam was all right.

It was a strange kind of placidity, he could watch and observe on a way he usually didn’t bother, but was spared the troubles of worry. When the thought registered he lamely wanted to flinch away, because this tranquilization was violating his self-dependence, but he wasn’t in the position right now. There were sparks in the air, as if he was surrounded by an invisible dome of power that wavered in the air just at the very edge of his vision, and when he wanted to tear away the spark stung and effectively grounded him in his place.

Every word Michael and Lucifer changed in that rigorous yet mesmerizing tongue Adam remembered faintly from his dreams made the sparks crackle less frequently and they hurt even less.

As if the spell was wearing off.

Time went by, and even Michael’s calm seemed to grow strained as Lucifer still snapped back at him if he deemed his brother’s attempts to reach out for him worthy of attention.

_Proud. He was proud and needed no out-of-thin-air brother to help him get through his problems. He was good on his own._

“Lucifer.”

Michael warned for the last time, then Lucifer’s eyes flashed at him, a pair of clear pools of liquid sadness surrounded by a thick web of lightning bolts, and he was gone.

Adam blinked as Michael leant back in his chair, spine rigid as if freshly carved of stone, eyes just as painfully bright like when he couldn’t think straight for the awful headache he had to go through. Yet, this one seemed deeper.

“He is going to murder someone, right?” Adam asked darkly.

Michael, so unlike himself, scoffed out a dry chuckle. “Probably.”

Adam poked his sodden cereal around with his spoon. “Mass murder or genocide?”

“He can’t really start an Apocalypse in his current state if that’s what worries you.”

“Yeah. I figured you’d set it off in my kitchen. I mean, if I watched the news tonight, will there be a mass grave from the neighbourhood?”

In a way too human motion Michael rubbed at his eyes with the heels of his palms.

“He doesn’t care enough to dig a grave for you.”

Michael was scary when he tried to be sassy.

~*~

Sam concentrated on his breathing. Deep, in and out, long and deep. To amplify the soothing effect he buried his face in his hands. Much better.

Dean just arrived from his third coffee-run that day and Sam had been on two as well. Which probably wasn’t healthy and they won’t be able to sleep for _weeks_ but they needed time out.

After a long and painful argument Castiel took his leave leaving the two brothers to tear at each other’s throats.

As much as the angel appreciated their help, he was getting a bit agitated at their impotence and also Dean’s stubbornness on their second debate on Michael’s threat-factor wasn’t helping. Cas told them several times that he believed both Michael and Lucifer, and highlighted that the most important issue was the archangel who wanted his head _now_. Then, after Dean seemed to have at least accepted the information for future-process Cas tuned back into angel-radio and left.

Hours had passed since.

So far they had shot down the possibility of Lucifer (“Yeah, because fighting side by side with the Devil would be such great PR for Cas.”) or Michael (“You really want that Apocalypse-obsessed dickhead back in Heaven?” “Dean claimed in the car that Michael doesn’t want to go back to Heaven either. I’d suggest leave it that way.”) helping out, because hello? _Apocalypse_!

Sam could defend Lucifer’s intentions all he wanted, but he actually had to bow to the reasoning. Even if he wasn’t really the Devil anymore (was he?) the End of Days was still lingering behind the corner and if Raphael took Michael’s armoury on himself, who knew what kind of _that_ Apocalypse will look like?

Hell on Earth if you asked Dean.

Dean was super worried and just started his never-ending even steeper ride of feeling guilty and useless and worthless, Sam got it, he really did, but it was high fucking time his brother added his own dime to the brainstorming!

From the flickering fire that could flare into another bloody argument Sam steered his thoughts back to the morning where everything was still relatively okay. Lucifer had been eager to come to his call, even though he was obviously worried – and wasn’t it relief to see that? Lucifer honestly cared and Sam immediately felt less hyped up on anger. They spent the night making out like horny teenagers – with the Devil! – and Sam hadn’t slept so good in which felt like a lifetime.

Also Lucifer was an awfully amazing kisser.

“How about Death?” Dean asked suddenly.

Sam snorted.

“Really? Death?”

Dean threw his arms out with his incredulous-fuck-you face on. “It’s just as good as those grade-A douchebags.”

“But Michael and Lucifer at least have interest in Heaven and Hell. Death cares _so_ much.”

“I know that he likes God and the idea of Apocalypse just as much as I witches, but he is probably the strongest piece on the chessboard.” Dean leant back and crossed his arms over his chest. “And at least he likes me.”

“Yeah, probably a big fan of Lucifer as well after his binding-stunt in Carthage.”

“Another thing we have in common,” Dean muttered under his breath.

“What did you say?” Sam asked sharply.

“Nothing.” Dean grunted. “All I mean is it’s not Lucifer asking for his help. Best thing would be if friggin Satan would keep as far away from us as possible! Preferably he could crawl back into his goddamn cell and rot away!”

“Dean, it’s not just about Lucifer being involved. Because he is whether you like it or not. There must be a reason why they are free.”

“Don’t give me the Destiny crap!”

Dean pushed himself to his feet nearly knocking his chair over.

“It’s just. It’s at least as much of a sign that God resurrected Cas and now he is nearly as powerful as an archangel.” When Dean only stumped over to his bag to grab his bottle of Jack Sam’s hold on the edge of the table loosened.

“Or the world really wants to end and just picked this way to rub it in our faces,” Dean grunted and poured a good inch of whiskey into his coffee. “Death would be busy, and he surely doesn’t like his job this much.”

“Okay. I’m not best buddies with Death and I’m grateful that you gambled my soul out from the Cage with him, but I’m still sure he doesn’t feel thrilled when I, as in Lucifer’s vessel and ugh…“

“And boyfriend, fucktoy, really what are you to him Sammy?”

“Whatever! Point is, we have a connection, and if Death was in a petty mood, and he sure as Hell will be if _we_ , mere bugs tried to bind him, he might not care if he likes you or not. And frankly, I don’t want to go back to Hell, thank you.”

Dean’s eyes bore into Sam’s core for a long minute but eventually he scoffed and chugged down a good mouthful of his juiced coffee.

“Okay, I get it. Death doesn’t care for humans and Earth, and despises the angels fighting in the sandbox. Then what do we have? Because we just shot down the big guns, and our whole point was to stop Cas from digging for Purgatory.”

Sam rubbed at his forehead tiredly. He could bring up Lucifer again, but maybe it was better to save it for another day. Then a careful thought crippled into his mind.

“What about Crowley?”

Dean stared at him with wide eyes and jaw slack. He had to shake himself out of his shock.

“I must have heard you wrong.”

“I said, what about Crowley?”

“You must be kidding.”

“No, look—“

“We don’t let the Devil anywhere near Heaven, and this goes for the King of Hell too!”

“Dean, hear me out, will you?!” Dean’s hold tightened around his cup but he bit down on the inside of his cheek and nodded for Sam to go on. “Thank you! Now, it’s not that we ask him actively to help. Just make sure that he doesn’t bother Purgatory. He has to work with an angel after all, and if Cas dumped him, there is a chance he turns to Raphael. If that happens, we are lost. But if we offer him a deal, maybe he will at least postpone it until the end of Civil War.”

Dean’s face darkened. “Not for nothing but I think our souls have lost some value.”

“We can think up something else. Like, I can make up a deal with him, just give me some time to think it out. Just let’s agree about who we are going to concentrate on, and then we are already off to somewhere.”

“Still not the smartest idea.” Dean sighed.

 “Since when have we done anything smart?”

 

~*~

 

Adam just got off the phone with Carla. They were meeting up with friends in the evening, and it put him into a good mood. Whistling, hands shoved in his pockets he skidded down the stairs to announce his programme to Michael, warning him just in case he had to remember to explain Lucifer’s presence to Kate. (If Lucifer so much as decided to show his face around Adam. Michael briefly explained what had his brother so worked up, and how he just wouldn’t listen to his reasoning for why Dean Winchester was so hostile around him. Obviously, it wasn’t bright as day to the most cunning creature in the world.)

The moment he turned into the living room he was _very_ happy that his Mom was over at a friend that afternoon.

“Oh my God! Is that blood on the couch?” Adam yelped in horror.

Lucifer, the bastard only glanced up at him with his puppy-eyes-of-doom. His Psychotic Highness was stretched out on the couch, blood splattered on his shirt, pale stains wiped from his face but still a brownish shade over his forehead, and his hands were dripping red to the floor. And the couch. Michael for his part stood at the foot of the couch with the mother of all glares in place.

“Hello Adam.”

“Don’t ‘hello Adam’ me you fuckhead!” Adam gasped. He was breathless, he only wasn’t sure, from what. From the amount of blood in his house of from anger? Probably from the latter. “What the fuck have you been up to?!”

“Let off some steam.”

“It is not the best way of coping with stress.” Michael frowned. “We were created to defend humanity. Not to exterminate them.”

“I was picky, don’t look at me like that!”

“Picky, you say?” On shaking legs Adam tumbled to the other side of the room to observe the whole damage. “Do I want to know whose blood it is?”

“Killers, abusers,” Lucifer waved at various splatters of blood on his clothing. “Animal-torturers. Filth of your society.”

“Killing cannot be justified like this, Lucifer!”

“They had it coming. Anyway no one would miss them. Most of them won’t even be found. Ever. But I have to admit it was tedious to find them in this area.” He sighed. “It's really troublesome being in love with someone who actually cares for humanity."

Nice to know he and Michael combined wasn’t even close enough to keep Lucifer’s millennia-old hatred for humanity at bay. Adam buried his face in his hands and groaned. “You are cleaning the couch, asshole.”

Lucifer only tutted. “When Gabriel played Trickster the same way no one ever looked cross at him.”

“He was hiding. And he didn’t have a history with humanity like you do.” Michael pointed out, and with a wave of his hand ushered Lucifer to the opposite end of the furniture so that he could sit down as well.

“What’s up with Gabriel, by the way?”

“I don’t know,” Michael shrugged elegantly. “You have been closest to him. And you have also spent more time on Earth.”

“Yes, but only long enough to kill him. I have no idea—What?” Lucifer glanced at Adam confused, while the boy looked definitely mortified. “He was hanging out with those pagans.”

“I didn’t know about that,” Michael mused with a frown in place. Like a big brother finding out his little sibling was doing drugs or something.

“You didn’t know about a lot of things,” Lucifer nodded, and he sounded way too nonchalant to the topic at hand. Of course, it could be just his way to sweep the problem and remorse under the rug and then stomp at it until it didn’t even twitch anymore, but _come on!_

“He had a fling with – what was her name… Kali?”

“Goddess of Time, Change and Destruction. Really?”

“They had a really bad influence on him. Turned out just like those petty little things. Ready to sell out his own kind…”

“Oh my God! Oh my God! I’m surrounded by psychopaths!” Adam cried out before Lucifer could go on justifying his actions, and most of all before he reached his ultimate reason of _It was the Apocalypse, come on!_ “I’m just going to skip the part that you killed your own brother—“

(Scandalizing Adam even further Michael mumbled, “And destroying all those filthy pagan gods too, I hope.” To this Lucifer nodded enthusiastically.

 “Knowing him, he is still alive, running away and lying with those incompetent beggars.”)

“—And I’d like to grab this moment to explain why Dean hates your guts so much.”

He couldn’t believe it was his life now. Analysing both his brothers and the two greatest archangels of human history and giving love advice? Not normal.

“I’m all ears, Adam,” Lucifer uncrossed his arms and hung his gaze on him.

“Gabriel was, is, your little brother, and you just murdered a bunch of his friends because you didn’t like them.”

“They were unworthy of Gabriel!” Lucifer whined baffled.

“Point is,” Adam went on firmly, “this is what you call protectiveness. And uh, the totally unreasonable, psychotic, sick way of such. Normal people **_don’t_** kill the people around their little brothers just because they don’t like their faces.”

Well, in hunter and angel circles this might not be the case, but he was trying to get a point across here.

“In Sam’s case, you are the evil one. The asshole boyfriend around Dean’s perfect little brother. Any self-respecting father and big bro would want your head on a stick out in the front yard. _Capiche?_ There’s no way – no matter what you do – It’s Dean’s _duty_ to hate you.”

Lucifer seemed thoughtful for a moment then he nodded.

“This makes sense,” he agreed. His careless undertone, however, was enough for Adam to know that he was already over the problem. Especially when the Devil’s eyes flashed to his side.

“It’s still your fault he got among them. You should have kept a closer eye on him.” he told Michael accusingly.

Michael only scowled back.

Lucifer crossed his arms over his chest, and with a huff he threw himself against the arm of the sofa. With childish stubbornness he wriggled his feet into Michael’s lap.

“Jesus, you are so hopeless!” Adam cried out and carded his hands through his hair.

“Don’t take it to your heart, Adam,” Lucifer smiled kindly like a shark. “You make a great psychologist. Ever thought about that career?”

“God, no! After the two of you **_I_** ’ll need a life-long therapy! I’ll be upstairs. Don’t kill any pets in the neighbourhood, and clean the couch before mom gets home.”

He wasn’t swooned by Lucifer’s innocent puppy look as he stomped away.

Michael and Lucifer remained in silence and peace for only a minute after Adam slammed the door behind himself.

Lucifer nudged his brother’s stomach with his toe.

“Have you made your move yet, Michael?”

The older angel didn’t even turn his gaze at the other.

“Oooh,” Lucifer cooed mockingly like a third grader. “So you haven’t. One would wonder why the great and mighty commander of Heaven hesitates. Maybe he’s afraid?”

“Your behaviour is childish Lucifer.”

“So you are! Dear brother, what from? Dean haven’t killed me, he wouldn’t kill you either.”

“I have no doubt.”

Lucifer rolled his eyes. “Please tell me you are not drawing up strategic plans of invasion!”

Michael’s cold glare was enough answer for that.

“Maybe I could help you out. Ship him over here for you since you obviously have troubles just walking up to your righteous man and ask for a kiss.”

“The last time Dean made it clear that he doesn’t want to see me again and I respect that.” Michael said evenly.

“Sam states it every single time, and I’m positive I respect his wishes more than you do,” Lucifer drawled and smirked at the way Michael’s brows furrowed in annoyance. “There is a difference between meaning it and just being stubborn… Or! Maybe the great Michael has no idea how to be romantic? You know, there is a part of being kind and attentive. You obviously have problems with that you are so full of yourself—“

“Look at the devil rebuking sin.”

Lucifer only shrugged. After all his feet were still intact and unbroken in Michael’s lap.

“And, as I was saying, when you proved yourself as the knight in shining armour comes your victory kiss. You do know what kissing is, right?”

“I am aware of what kissing means.”

“Really? Because you seem like a virgin to me who is blushing even by thinking about such dirty things.”

“You are talking way too much.”

“Averting topic!”

“You’re insufferable.”

“Prove it!” Lucifer demanded with a devious grin plastered on his face.

Michael’s confused frown was worth giving this hideous race of humankind another chance.

“What should I prove?”

“That you know how to kiss. And maybe also that you are not awfully bad at it.”

“I don’t have to prove you anything.”

“You are being a coward, brother.”

“I feel inclined to seal your vessel’s mouth for good.”

“You have got the weekend to prove it. Or everyone’ll know what a coward Michael is!”

Lucifer was rather lucky Michael was no longer invested in the Apocalypse.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It became quite long again... I hope you enjoyed still! Please let me know (even if you didn't so that I could improve)!
> 
> Thank you very much for waiting for my update, reading along. Thank you very much for the kudos, comments, everything! <3  
> I still have school, it's my final year, so it's a bit even more complicated, and managing multiple stories and other ideas are tough. So I can't promise a regular update just yet, but I already have the story more or less lined out, and also I'm preparing for the next part of this verse, so I don't plan on abandoning this story, don't worry! :)


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who said it was easy to come up with a plan against Crowley? The Winchesters would be happy to beat some sense into them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is from Mumford and Sons' Broken Crown
> 
> I had to pick this apart because I really wanted to update, but with my Final-finals coming my way I'm growing rather busy. And I just realized the story needs some reconstruction. Plus Lucifer is really difficult to work with...
> 
> But please, enjoy! :)

**Dream of a Stairway to the Skies**

**chapter 10**

**_Broken Crown (_ ** _But in the twilight our choices seal our fate)_

 

Even with a plan already vaguely outlined (Stop Crowley!), their life didn’t become any easier. If anything it got even worse.

Dean had become edgy. Early when he left for the garage Sam could feel his eyes on him, burning into his skull as if in search for Lucifer in there.

His brother’s distrust in Lucifer was also riling Sam up and the short hours they spent together, that should have been devoted to working out the details of their plan against Crowley were rather filled with tension. Snide remarks cut through the air like knives, every pull of lips, grit of teeth were like the flicker of matches in a room full of pit-gas.

It didn’t help much that Sam’s shifts became even more stressful. He got back to the motel exhausted and he really wasn’t in the mood to deal with Dean. Especially not when he couldn’t sleep.

He was burning up.

It was rather similar to the feeling when he was suffering from demon blood detox. He was sick just from the connection he made and it was all downhill from then.

Lucifer, bless his heart, was true to his word and respected Sam’s privacy that he didn’t crawl into his head and accepted it when Sam claimed that he was all right. Only the worry and sorrow deepened in his eyes, and he was the second person Sam could no longer look eye-to-eye.

Through the following days Sam felt his blood catching fire, his head ready to explode with searing white pain, he even collapsed once in an episode at work. He was shaky on his feet and was at the brim of pretending. But he clung to the idea that now everything was all right.

He was safe. Lucifer’s mouth became the quell of life for a man with the desert in his throat, the cool breeze over cracked earth, a splash of green and light in the middle of the scarce land. Sam snuggled closer to Lucifer. Still in time he turned the whimper into a small sigh when Lucifer breathed a kiss onto the top of his head. Such gentle gestures were manna from Heaven, blessing on his burning skin.

 

~*~

 

The sea of blood ebbs around his knees – but now, revealed, he has just knees. Lucifer towers over him – unbendable pride, tainted and tattered but still beautiful Morning Star.

A dangerous smile creeps at his lips.

Lucifer raises his hands and places a heavy, broken crown on his head. Sam feels the edges jutting into his scalp like thick needlework and sharp little knives carving into his skull.

Now, he has been crowned with his righteous lordship. He is power; he is the Boy King of Hell. He wades in blood, bones shatter under his feet, his fingers cradle around the delicate spine of necks and he snaps them with a smile until he is nothing but glass and a gory mess—

Sam reigns and no one dares to challenge his authority.

Lucifer smiles…

…And Lucifer bows.

 

~*~

 

What could he offer Crowley that would worth that abomination enough to give up his search for Purgatory?

With an agitated growl Sam pressed the heel of his palms into his tired eyes. He could write these damn words all over the walls at this point, draw and pin colourful strings to all his ridiculous ideas and then cross them out with vivid red paint because that at least would help him let out some steam.

He groaned and kicked the chair back to stretch his legs.

Today he was brainstorming alone. After his second episode at work making a scene of going rigid, hard and cold and sweating while panting out curses no one could really make out and nearly biting off his own tongue he was fired. Sam could consider himself lucky that he wasn’t shipped over to a mental ward. And since there was nothing more important than Cas and containing Crowley they were not searching for monster of the week either. Unfortunately that left both Winchesters without opportunity to blow shit up and shed blood and chop off some heads.

It was only a matter of hours until the pent-up frustration would erupt like a volcano and they would regret it. They would regret it very, very much Sam thought bitterly staring out the window.

“Why are you so worried, Sam?” Lucifer asked from behind him.

Sam flinched at the careful touch on his shoulder. Lucifer pulled his hand back immediately.

“Why not, rather,” he sighed heavily. In the last second he managed to contain his bitchface into a twist of eyebrow and the tightening of his mouth. As much as Lucifer didn’t feel at all affected by his totally-not-impressed looks Sam really didn’t need to add ‘I want to punch the Devil in his smug face’ to his what-would-be-wiser-to-avoid list.

“Trouble always finds you, why tempt her any more?”

“You really aren’t helping,” Sam knew he was sounding close to whining but Lucifer hadn’t been much help lately apart from being worried but even that was getting on Sam’s last nerve.

Sam was grateful that Dean wasn’t searching for an opportunity to fight. That was the reason his brother had gone on exploring the area (at this point he probably knew about every fallen leaf and every stray cat and dog and scared all possible monsters back into the drain) but the younger was getting fed up. They were turning ignorance into an Olympic sport but it brought recoiled tension. If Dean gave him that look again he will be nursing a black eye for the rest of the week.

Even though at the moment stabbing Lucifer with Ruby’s knife was on top of Sam’s agenda.

Such thoughts made him wonder what the ever-loving Hell he was doing? What was he thinking? Was he even thinking at all?

There was this low, vicious growl that sometimes hissed and then climbed higher, clamping claws on either side of his spine and as it whistled at the base of his skull he could make it out that it was a revolting blend of agitated screaming and the most malicious laughter he had ever heard.

It slipped so sickeningly easy into his brain…

“Sam.”

The way Lucifer’s expression and tone were both carefully flat assured Sam that it wasn’t the first time the fallen angel had called his name.

“What?” he snapped. The voice still echoed in his head. It was slowly ploughing up his convolution.

 “You don’t want to—“

“Go nuts?” The ice chunk that dropped into the acidic sea in his stomach radiated through his whole body. “How do you know? Because newsflash, you aren’t the sanest either.”

The gaze Lucifer levelled him with was cautious. It was nauseating.

Something snapped in Sam in the face of this cold statue.

“Maybe this is the only way I can function. This world is crazy and maybe Dean is right. I must have gone insane because you? Having you here?” A chuckle tore at the back of his dry throat. “God, I’m so stupid! But you know what? Let’s get ahead of the heartbreak shall we? Come on! Ask me!”

“What should I ask you?” Cold. Neutrally amused.

“I thought you were prouder than playing stupid.” Sam sneered. He crossed his arms, leant back against the windowsill and met Lucifer’s unreadable gaze with his own. “The odds aren’t really in our favours. The Cage is broken, no chance of another death-jump in there. The Devil and Michael both on top. Dean is so frustrated and disappointed in me he would take no time to break and say yes to Michael. Which leaves, oh, only me to lose heart and get on my knees for you. Why pull it out any longer? I’m sure you could put that silver tongue to good use.”

Lucifer closed his eyes and from the look of it counted to ten before looking at Sam again. The hunter sported a soulless smirk on his lips.

“Maybe your tempting skills were sold over value.”

“You should pick your words more carefully.”

“Does the truth hurt you? No, hey, I feel like _I_ am tempting you.”

The Devil stayed silent, expression flat and shoulders tense. The screeching wind in Sam’s ear cackled. _You are tempting the great Deceiver!_

“Don’t you want to know how much it’d take to get me put out for the second time?”

“Not when _you_ ask it like this.”

“How was that song about consent you liar?”

“I don’t want your yes like this Sam.” Lucifer said. He sounded prideful, contemptuous with that maddening sad undertone that tried in vain to play on the strings of Sam’s sympathy. “You should reconsider going to bed early.”

“Want to join me?”

“You need the rest.”

“Because _you_ know so well what I need!”

“I do.”

 "You don't know me."

"I do," Lucifer repeated, and tilted his chin on his own way of bemused defiance, eyes gleaming with suddenly reclaimed mirth.

"Because we are so much alike?" Sam gave it back. He realized that he had been breathing in sharp huffs like a bull before it marched at his victim.

"Because I've been keeping an eye on you. Being at your side. It'll come back eventually."

Sam dreaded that time to come.

He started to feel really sick. When his gaze refocused on Lucifer standing at the other side of the room, wound-up and so unlike the angel Sam was getting used to liking a bit he pulled a blank to find out what got him in the mood. Everything was hazy and too warm.

When he took a tentative step toward Lucifer the blond took a reluctant one back.

Sam stared puzzled but Lucifer didn’t offer more than an apologetic pair of hurt blue eyes.

 

Dean got back from his late-night scouting for Sam sprawled out on his bed, limbs thrown each and every possible direction snoring softly.

~*~

Alone.

He is alone in this awfully huge world of which, he finds out, he knows pathetically little. All the text-books and the few months enrolled into some public school didn’t help much to settle into society.

He has never realized how alone he really is. Maybe because he always had a brother at his side. Them against the world. But now their own worlds are against each other. He has no one to run to. All he knows long enough to at least call them acquaintances are in _that_ world. He doesn’t need pity; he doesn’t need to be told how his little run-away is futile. Most of all he doesn’t want his old life to catch up with him. He doesn’t want his father to find him.

He probably should worry about the latter for the least. He was cast out because he isn’t a blunt little instrument. He blinks back tears of frustration.

At least it’s summer. He only has a summer to survive on his own until college starts and he will have a regular schedule to occupy his mind with.

He can do this. He has way more experience in surviving. He _is_ a survivor! That he is alone shouldn’t make it any more difficult.

A normal life is waiting for him. Far away from the family that wants nothing to do with him. He is getting away from it. Not looking back. No remorse. _No remorse_ – he tells himself empathically.

Working on no more but a few hours of stolen minutes of sleep makes it a bit hard to keep on repressing all the negativity he has tried so well so far. The motels bring nightmares and he just cannot get over the old habits of hiding a knife under his pillow.

 _I have nothing to be afraid of._ He tells himself every time he closes his eyes. _I’m out. I’ve gotten out. They aren’t following me here._

However, every small sound even the lowest whisper jolt him wide awake, blood rushing in his ears, eyes sharp, ready to kill.

A few days won’t be enough to erase long years of training. But he fights the vibe that it will never go away.

He leaves the next morning. Where to, he has no idea, but John’s voice echoing in his head is enough to force him to march on until he reaches a bench in an empty bus stop. Thinking of his dad and his brother’s betrayal makes him feel sick. Maybe it’s just the hunger.

The old cell-phone glares back at him.

He dreads to admit it but he is waiting for Dean to call him. His brother, his whole universe, the one who left him go alone, the one who always told him _It’s okay Sammy._

His finger hovers over the button to play the voice-mail left the day before John kicked him out. After a small fight Dean begged Sam on the phone to come back. Everything will be all right, they will work it out together, just drag his whiny girly ass back to the motel.

_It’s okay._

_It’ll be okay Sam. It’ll be okay._

Raising to wobbly feet he takes the two steps that separates him from the trashcan, and without a rueful look he drops the phone. It sits comfortably next to an empty coffee-cup.

 _It’ll be okay_ , he tells himself as he sprawls out on the bench lying back so that his head is in the shadows, golden green leaves dance over him filtering various patches of sunlight on his face.

It will be okay. He only wishes to know _how_.

 

~*~

Adam woke with a start at the chessboard being slammed down on his nightstand. The figures danced but in a dream-like fashion missed to topple over each other. He rubbed his eyes tiredly and glared at Lucifer looming over him.

“What the fuck do you want?”

“I’m bored,” Lucifer answered tightly. Satan looked down his nose at Adam as if he was his goddamn servant who missed to do the laundry.

“I dun’ care! It’s too fucking late.”

Naively thinking _that’s it_ Adam turned to the wall and aggressively shut his eyes tight. He wondered if he could will Lucifer away.

No luck. A silver spear to the back of his neck would have been nicer than the searing cold glare of a pair of stars.

“Go and bother Michael,” he grunted. “My inferior brain wouldn’t be a challenge to you.”

That seemed to do the trick.

He brushed aside random thoughts of something being off on Lucifer’s face. Too. Fucking. Late. He told his brain and went back to sleep. If Apocalypse were to restart over a game of chess, he was going to have a good night’s sleep while it erupted.

~*~

 

The day after Lucifer had started some kind of a cold shoulder treatment on Sam while the angel still managed to look like the victim there Dean came back short after noon with his arm in a sling.

“Not broken, don’t look so mortified,” Dean grunted and knocked back a few pills from an orange bottle. “Fell over a wrench. Will be back to normal in two days.”

The guilt was actually strong enough that Sam’s doubts over that didn’t make it to the twitch of his eyebrows. They just had a minor clash of views in the morning before Dean left in a hurry and now Sam couldn’t shake the feeling off that it was all his fault. Seeing the misery in his kicked puppy eyes Dean later admitted that he only had the sling because that was a great excuse to fire his ass. But it still hurt like a bitch.

Dean grumbled, and ordered him in a grunt that he would have to put his moose-legs to good use and pick up Baby if he was such a sissy that he didn’t let him drive her back under the influence of painkillers. Sam remarked with a twist to his lips that it was a miracle Dean didn’t wash his pills down with whiskey.

The next fight was promptly over Dean being an emotionally stunted teenager with way too many issues who couldn’t take it when his younger brother was right.

The bottle of Jack decorated the fugly flowery wall-paper showering glass shards all around.

The air soon became cold and heavy. It only lifted after the painkillers kicked in and Dean fell back on his back with one final grunt. He was out cold to the world.

~*~

The Winchester brothers achieved a new record in playing denial and blessed ignorance. All in the name of Castiel. And also for the sake of Dean’s mental eyes.

After he woke from his long slumber Dean decided it was a good idea to tell Adam what they had been up to on the ground of his college fund since the last time he was over he had more important things to discuss. Also because momentarily both older brothers were without a job – and Sam tuned his rambling out around this point. About fifteen minutes of ignoring the background noise of Dean trying to put all his drugged big brotherly authority through the phone to make Adam accept their financial help Sam picked up on silence.

“Did he accept or did you give up?” Asked Sam as he twisted to look at his brother. “Dude, are you okay? You are on meds, you shouldn’t be so—“

“It’s not my arm,” Dean shook his head. He was way too pale and wide-eyed for Sam’s liking. “Just, uh, Adam… Clearly the day’s programme is Satan and Michael playing chess in his living room.”

As Sam burst into a grin Dean cried out in indignation.

“It’s not funny you bitch! I really, really didn’t need this mental image!”

“Would it be better if they were making out or what?” Sam blessed his ability to close down certain pictures to invade his brain.

The sound Dean made in response was glorious.

~*~

The next morning Dean was still drowsy and Sam ‘bitchy’ as they loaded their things into the trunk, ready to leave for another sleepy town where people hopefully were too deaf to get a heart attack at an incidental Winchesters vs. Hell showdown.

Dean was going through printed maps of satellite pictures of random places searching for the best place. He had his brows and lips pinched into his I’m-so-fucking-pissed-at-you expression. Sam only rolled his eyes. His brother was the second person directing this godawful passive-aggressive antics at him and he was getting really fed up with it. He was not going to let Dean drive after he found it hard to crawl out of bed and the first thing he took next to his coffee was the last pills of his orange bottle.

Sam glanced to his side to see what Dean was up to engulfed in his glowering silence. He was sketching Devil’s traps on the maps. The younger looked back at the road, because they still needed to live long enough to at least try to negotiate with Crowley, then his eyes flipped back at Dean’s handiwork.

The scribbles were at totally random places. Over houses and crossing streams. Sam gritted his teeth. It was great that Dean could draw them from the top of his head but instead he could have measured if they could draw one up big enough not to raise suspicion in the demons but to trap them in safe and sound.

Fucking Dean.

Ten minutes later Dean was still sketching.

“I didn’t give you those papers for art classes Dean.”

“Fuck you. ’M thinking,” Dean grunted back with the pen dangling from his teeth. He rubbed at his shoulder, now without the sling because he threw it away third thing in the morning. “It’d be hella easier if you drove my Baby more carefully.”

Sam decided to ignore that jibe. “There are like a thousand devil’s traps there in front of you.”

His brother grunted. “I was flipping through Dad’s journal for ideas. Guess a simple Devil’s trap would be too obvious by this point. So instead of around why not put the trap _inside_ those fuckers?”

“Mind to elaborate?”

Dean flipped through his papers and shoved one under Sam’s nose.

“See? They can be miniaturized just fine. Carve them on a bullet, shoot and there you go. Demons trapped in their hosts waiting for our blade… Is there something wrong with your eyes? You have this strange misty look…”

“Fuck off,” Sam batted the teasing away but couldn’t help the small smile. “Where did you get the idea from?”

“I’ve had a lot of time to think.”

The wince didn’t fly past Sam when Dean attempted a shrug. “You want to deal with the King of Crossroads? Fine. If anyone you, Mr. Super Lawyer can do him out of his pants. And I bet you’d want to do it _alone_.”

That wasn’t a question. While the line of Dean’s jaw was hard his eyes glinted without hostility. It was truly frightening at this point in their relationship, but Sam would lie if he claimed it didn’t make him feel a bit warm inside.

“But I’ll be damned if I don’t cover your sasquatch ass. I still have my sniper gun in the trunk lying around.”

“How about your shoulder?”

Dean only scoffed. “A few shots won’t hurt it bad.”

Sam chewed on the inside of his cheek. It would be so easy to call Dean out on that. The kick of that gun could hurt it even further and Sam had the lurking suspicion that somehow Dean just managed to dislocate his shoulder in his toppling over and the sling wasn’t just for kicks, but… Sadly this was their best shot so far.

Also they would be lucky if Crowley valued his life to make the deal with Sam. And there it wasn’t only Dean’s shoulder at stake on the mission.

_You have one ultimate bargaining chip._

He gritted his teeth. That indeed was true. However unlucky and risky.

 

~*~

 

“Your bus left you here?”

Sam’s whole body flinches at the voice. He sits up abruptly, hand going to the back of his belt on instinct just to find no weapon there. But he doesn’t really need it, does he? He is safely away from hunting and monsters. He has run away.

“Ugh, something like that,” he groans and casting a shadow over his eyes with his hand looks up at the man who addressed him.

He is tall, not as tall as Sam, but close, and has a strong built. On his face where shadows curl there is something dark and menacing that makes nervousness coil in Sam’s guts and he immediately puts his feet on the ground, ready to bolt any time those ice blue eyes flash black or sickening yellow. But there is also the way the light softens his features. As the leaves shudder in the breeze the man’s face grows gentle, eyes understanding and deep. The light just washes away all the threat around him.

The blond guy sits down next to Sam on the bench; posture open and friendly.

“It’s really not the best place for a nap.” He has a smooth tone. Sam feels lightheaded.

Sam squints suspiciously at the plastic cup placed next to him. “What is it?” It is moist where cold meets the hot early-summer air.

“I gathered you might appreciate some coffee when you finally wake up from your slumber,” the man answers casually and nudges the cup closer to Sam.

“Ugh. Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” the man shrugs with an easy smile before Sam could protest. “By the way, if you don’t have anything better to do while you wait for the bus. I have a bookshop down the street. You could pick up a book for the trip.” He adds then stands and just as he came he leaves.

It takes Sam so long that the blond already crossed the road without a glance for cars possibly coming his way and disappeared down the street that it hit him.

 _Charming_.

The word he was looking for to describe the man is charming. Deviously so.

~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter I'm dealing with Crowley, I swear!  
> I know it's been a bit different, but please bear with me, I'm getting to the main point soon. And also some Dean/Michael is coming again. Mark my word. (Michael has a bet not to lose after all...)
> 
> Please feel free to share what you think!


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Tell me,” his voice was breathless and much sharper than his measured amused drawl, “one good reason why. I shouldn’t. Tear you to pieces here and now?!”
> 
> Sam stood his ground stubbornly, with the peace of mind of the hazardous steadying his hands and thoughts. He cocked his head to the side, looked into Crowley’s reddening eyes and said:
> 
> “Rumour has it, the Cage is empty.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm terribly sorry it took me so long to update, and I'm so- so grateful for anyone who still takes the time to read this horribly long chapter (sorry for it, there is just no way I could settle for shorter chapters)! I'm not really satisfied with it, but my writing block finally lifted regarding this fic, and I had to take what I could.
> 
> All typos and mistakes are mine. Sorry for them.
> 
> Title is from Coldplay's Vivala Vida

 

**Dream of a stairway to the Skies**

**Chapter 11**

**_Who would ever wanna be king?_ **

 

Sam is a bit thrown between calling out an uncertain ‘hello’ or just peeking in before he turns on his heels and goes away. It is one thing that he was invited into the bookstore but the tablet on the door clearly says CLOSED (all caps and angry red letters that just radiate hostility) even though said door is wide open.

After a second of contemplating his chances he shrugs. What could jump him in a bookstore? Dust bunnies and old books with peeling off leather covers surely are as dangerous as all the nightmares he has crossed roads in his life.

The place actually is really nice. Small and cosy, stuffed to the brim with shelves and chests filled with books. The shelves are made of dark wood and Sam would have to stretch his long limbs to reach the books stocked on the top. Surprisingly though, as Sam treads a bit cautiously inside he sees no price tags on the spines.

“So you came.”

Sam nearly jumps out of his skin. The guy from before turned up suddenly at his elbow, and it is his fucking lucky day that Sam isn’t here working a job because it is highly likely he would have stabbed him in his start.

Pressing his palm to whist his racing heart he glares at the man.

“I’m sorry for startling you,” the guy says with earnest resonating in his lazy drawl.

“It’s all right. I, ugh, I was just, yeah. Surprised.” Sam curses himself. Way to sound stupid. That’s how you start your new life!

“Do you know already what kind of time-killer you’re looking for?”

Sam glances about. “Not really.”

“Feel free to get lost in my store,” the man says with another one of that easy smile. “I’m closed anyway.”

“I don’t want to bother you,” Sam hurries, embarrassed all of a sudden. “I didn’t realize it was so late.”

“It’s not. I’m always closed.” He shoves his hands deep in his pockets and turns on his heels but still at the corner of the shelf he throws a look back at Sam. “Cry if a Russian realist attacks you.”

Sam is rather sure he is sporting one of his notorious bitch-faces. Only it is directed at thin air.

 

By the time he finds the counter he is pretty sure he has lived up the blond man’s hospitality. It really isn’t his fault that every single surface is covered in heaps of books and old journals and if he didn’t know any better he would claim that the shopkeeper is trying to hide behind his newspaper. If he didn’t make a disgruntled scoff which was accompanied by the ruffle of paper Sam might have been searching for him for another fifteen minutes.

Sam makes his way to the massive desk that apparently also serves as the cash register. As soon as he halts in front of it the shopkeeper looks up at him. For a moment Sam is a bit confused by the vanishing lines of a frown over his brow, wondering if it was directed at him, but the hard expression soon disappears as now they are both standing.

“Luckily I wasn’t assaulted in your shop,” Sam says in an attempt to erase the awkward feeling that just settled in his stomach. “I couldn’t not feel the air of hostility around Homer’s branch though.”

The blond shakes his head and clicks his tongue in disapproval. “Always trouble it is with the classics.”

With his fingertips he reaches for the book Sam placed on the counter. He turns it around and for a long, awfully tense moment he eyes the cover as if he could read the resume through hundreds of boring pages.

“So, young lawyer-to-be or you just picked something that promised an immediate trip to the Land of Dreams?”

Sam thinks for the fracture of a second. Eventually he calls, damn it, it’s time of being proud of what he is going to do.

“I’m starting Law at Stanford this September.” He immediately feels that careful pride bloom in his chest until soon it threatens to burst at the little appreciative look of the shopkeeper.

“Starting on the textbooks, then?”

“It’s as good as anything,” Sam shrugs.

The man hums, and for a second his thoughtful look pins the heavy book to the desk. Meanwhile, unconsciously Sam is looking for any nametag, name card, anything that would give him an opportunity to pair a name to the other. Calling him possibly-dangerous charming blond guy is a bit too long even in his head. He doesn’t have any luck.

“Isn’t it boring?” The guy raises his stunning blue eyes to Sam. “Or am I just revealing your horrid future?”

Sam shakes his head, damnit because his throat is too dry all of a sudden to speak right away.

“No,” he coughs with an apologetic look. “I mean, sure, legislation procedures and studying long texts to the letter is boring as Hell,” this elicits a small quirk at the edge of the guy’s lips, “but the cases are interesting. Trying to help individuals in a system that tries to fit schematics on them _is_ interesting and a challenge.”

“So it’s all about helping people?”

“Sure, yeah. What else?”

Before he realizes Sam and Nick, as at some point the man introduced himself, are entangled in a deep conversation about law systems. They touch the subject of religious features in their base, if such things are outdated or not, and by the time the sunrays pour through the window behind Nick painting his hair more gold than milky-blond they reached the moral labyrinth of defending the rights of criminals.

“Don’t you believe in second chance?” Sam asks, to which Nick’s hardened gaze flutter to the side and up to the top of a pile of books before they are back at Sam again.

“I believe in the punishment fitting the crime.”

The air grows heavy with the topic of capital punishment they reach stunningly soon after.

Sam knows that it should probably set him off and should consider a run for the door, because the cold condescending expression that settles on Nick’s features is really unsettling. However, Sam only has his past to blame that there rather is an exciting chill that runs up and down his spine. He feels smart, he feels important! Finally, there is someone who listens to his arguments and honestly seems to consider them in his brilliant mind and doesn’t only shoot him down for he is too young and idealistic. It makes him feel like he is on top of the world, and he feels heady on a way like crystal clear air filling his lungs and you are just high on the purity of it. It is brilliant.

In a minute of silence exhaustion surprises Sam like a bird of prey. He cannot help the way his eyelids droop. Even rubbing them helps nothing at all. It must be the near total lack of sleep catching up on him. But God, he was soaring not so long ago!

“When does your bus leave?”

“What?”

Nick looks at him with something impossibly gentle yet sharp in his expression.

“You don’t even have a bus, do you?”

“Well, no. Not really,” Sam admits flustered. “I’m looking for a place to stay for the summer actually.”

“I’ll tell you what,” Nick says after another long look which makes Sam feel exposed and ridiculously small. “I’m closing the shop at the end of August but until then I just happen to have a spare room upstairs.”

Sam’s eyebrow quirks upwards, because he hasn’t seen any note advertising the opportunity, but before he has the chance to politely but firmly decline the offer (he cannot be blamed, he was brought up as a hunter, he was sucking suspicion instead of milk) but Nick foregoes such concerns.

“I really don’t want idiot teenagers or some broke to hang around and be a nuisance, so I don’t put up a sign.” He shrugs in a way that says what can you do? “You, on the other hand has proven that you aren’t stupid, quite intelligent in fact, so the offer stands. Just as my invitation for the book.”

 

That night Sam sleeps in a freshly made bed that is not that much different from all the motel rooms, but it has a strange, lingering sense of familiarity, which is definitely stupid, since the only place he might call home is the Impala that cannot be any further from this. It’s incomprehensible, but it _is_ there without doubt.

For the sake of his conscience he keeps a knife under his pillow.

He hasn’t slept so good in which feels like a lifetime.

 

~*~

 

Sam gulped hard while clenching and unclenching his fists. No matter how many times they had risked life and limb, whenever he had some time to measure their odds it took him always a moment or two to swallow down some sparks of nerves.

He glanced around. His gaze skidded along the broken line of the hole-ridden fence and over the grey shallow river. The smoky windows were just as empty as a blind man’s eyes. The only shades of life on the dirty walls were occasionally a strand of weed here and there that Sam more guessed than actually saw.  There was no sight of Dean. Hopefully the demons will sense his presence just this much.

They found a run-down factory up the river of their targeted town. Most of the people had moved away when the Winchesters were still teenagers so the whole place was deserted enough to make it ideal for their little plan.

A few stray willow trees on his left that were cut from the river bank by the road Sam moved to the side and dug a shallow hole to place his metal box inside. It was only a thin footpath crossing the asphalt but he suspected his name should be enough to get the reigning King of Hell interested.

He barely covered the box in the dirt and a demon already appeared behind his back.

“Sam Winchester,” she drawled as her red eyes took him in. “You just don’t know how to stay out of trouble.”

 “You don’t either.” With a wry smile on his lips Sam turned to her and carefully so that the broken lamp light would skid on the blade he waved Ruby’s knife in front of her face. “Get a hang of Crowley for me would you?”

She pursed her lips, “You won’t frighten me with some toothpick.”

When Sam didn’t even answer her eyes flashed annoyed and she jerked her hand in an attempt to blow Sam away. Only to find that Sam was still towering over her and also that this mountain size of a man could move rather quickly. Next second Sam’s hand clasped on her forearm in an iron grip and he pointed the knife against her throat.

Good old devil’s traps still worked after all.

“I won’t ask again,” Sam warned.

 “Hello Moose. It’s a pleasure to see you again.” Crowley greeted not a whole second later from outside the red painted circle.

Sam scowled at him. The woman in his hold shifted, he could feel the strain of muscles as she tried to break free. But Sam was even quicker than she could open her mouth to let the wicked black smoke escape. Crackling, the foul creature died within her host with the demon blade in her throat.

She fell to the ground with a thud. Only then did Sam turn to look at Crowley.

The demon frowned in a theatrical fashion.

“I don’t think this is the way of diplomacy. Messengers are always exempt.”

“And negotiators don’t come with an army,” Sam gave it back without missing a beat.

“Don’t be such a sissy. They are just… entourage.”

“Sure,” Sam scoffed.

Crowley only answered him with a snake-sweet smile. Then keeping to his scenic act started a slow circle, careful to stay outside of the devil’s trap.

“What do I owe the pleasure I wonder. A private audience. Where did you leave the Squirrel?”

As he followed Crowley’s pacing Sam could feel the other five demons’ eyes on him. Ten scorching holes sizzled in his jacket and burnt his scalp.

“I’m here alone.”

“Certainly.” No matter how imperceptible Crowley tried to gesture for one of his minions the small wave didn’t escape Sam’s notice. He felt the familiar trickle of nerves tightening into a knot in his stomach. Yet he was just as careful not to give anything away. “So, as I absolutely believe you, Sam, what can I do for you?”

“I want to negotiate a deal. Dean doesn’t agree, so I came without him.”

Crowley levelled him with a thoughtful look.

“I hope you aren’t just wasting my time.”

“I’m about to deal you more actually.” That seemed to catch Crowley off guard enough that Sam could hurry on, taking a half step back. “I want you to forget about Purgatory. Not for eternity, per se, but for only the duration of the Civil War in Heaven. Then the angels still will be scattered and wounded enough to leave you to your digging.”

“They don’t bother me much either way. You kindly got Castiel off my back, so why should I bother?”

“You need an angel to open the gates.”

“I can catch myself one just fine. One scattered, hurt tiny bird falling off the skies.”

“They are in the middle of war,” Sam risked the tone of someone who was talking to some mentally disabled. “After it’s over they’ll be overconfident in their security. Think about it. Not Cas, not even Raphael would try to jump you for their own share of souls.”

“Who was talking about Raphael?”

The hunter’s only answer was a subtle smirk; the glint in his eyes spoke enough how great Crowley had failed to mask up his irritation over his proven Raphael-problem.

“You step down, we help Cas win the Civil War, you gain time. Isn’t it a fair deal?”

Crowley stopped in his track and was silent long enough that hope started to bloom in Sam’s chest. It was short-lived however. The moment the crease of consideration melted away from Crowley’s features and was taken over by the wicked glow of amused hell-fire, Sam knew it was now up to Dean whether they still had a chance at striking a deal.

“Why don’t you offer me something that would buy _you_ more time, hmm, Moose? It’s a matter of time until you’re shaken out of that ring of yours.”

Sam clenched and unclenched his hand.

“How about your life?” He took another step back.

Crowley only had time to crack half an incredulous grin before a gunshot tore through the air.

The demons around scattered away like birds at a stone thrown their way. Crowley lurched and stumbled – Sam was quick to assume Dean hit him, but before he could grab the lapels of the demon’s jacket one faithful minion took advantage of Sam’s one-tracked focus. He was gripped so tight on the shoulder it weakened his knees for just one second. It was enough though for Crowley to slip out of his reach, and now he was up in hand-to-hand combat with four demons.

Three, but in the blur of movement it was a bit hard to count. There was one more shot, an agonized cry and curses. Dean hit another one.

Meanwhile Sam dipped Ruby’s knife in a shoulder, cut open the thug’s side who was clenching his hip, and even when he found himself struck to the ground he still managed to jab the blade in his knee-cap.

Another gunshot – not as sharp as the previous ones.

Sam stabbed the powerless demon, it flickered out of existence and the body saved the hunter from hurling through the air and landing crashed at another’s feet. She was surprised, she had obviously miscalculated her move, but that was all Sam needed. He threw himself at her taking advantage of her surprise.

Crowley swore a few steps away.

One window of the factory shattered, something heavy crashed to the shore of the river below. Sam only distantly hoped that it was just a demon sent after Dean.

Splashing and struggling made through to Sam, he cut a glance to the river, but in the darkness he hardly saw a thing.

Gasping for air, his whole ribcage throbbed with dull, hot pain, as every time his lungs strained to expand another shot washed through him. He barely missed the strike of the demon, and could kick her back in the hopefully still intact circle of the devil’s trap.

The Winchester-lucky-star fell from the sky then. Or maybe mush sooner and they were still alive by mere miracle.

The paint had been smeared all over the asphalt, its charm broken. She pushed herself up on one hand and with the other she made a grasping motion.

Sam felt his guts tear. Salty, metallic taste rushed into his mouth, and there was no oxygen molecule that could make its way down his windpipe. He doubled over; desperately gasping for air, but all his reward was being crushed into the ground.

One more shot, Sam could hardly catch its bang over the blood pumping in his ear, but the intangible, sulphur flavoured pull of demonic power let up. Sam quickly collected his shaking limbs and not bothering to spit out the blood that gathered in his mouth he sprinted at the demon and before she could claw at the bleeding wound in her thigh he stabbed her in the sternum.

The younger Winchester cast a quick glance about. He caught a glimmer on the shore that were the flash of Dean’s eyes over one miraculously dry gun, where the elder was drenched in water, before his brother was engulfed again in the heat of wrestling with another of Crowley’s minions. Sam considered rushing over, but he decided against it. Dean had cleared his path. He only had to grab Crowley and throw in his final card—

As Sam turned, knife ready in hand, dripping from all the demon blood, the very same moment the deformed bullet dropped to the ground from Crowley’s fingers.

Crowley was boiling with anger.

“Tell me,” his voice was breathless and much sharper than his measured amused drawl, “one good reason why. I shouldn’t. Tear you to pieces here and now?!”

Sam stood his ground stubbornly, with the peace of mind of the hazardous steadying his hands and thoughts. He cocked his head to the side, looked into Crowley’s reddening eyes and said:

“Rumour has it, the Cage is empty.”

Like a bucket of cold water flushed down his back, Crowley immediately sobered up. His eyes hardened, gained a calculating edge.

“You don’t know that.”

“I do. And last time, you were more than eager to make a deal with us. You still must be afraid of Lucifer.”

The demon scoffed. “You speak as if Satan was your lapdog.”

Sam internally steeled himself. He allowed himself the shadow of a smirk.

“Haven’t you heard? Lucifer is now going out of his way to please _me_. He does whatever I ask of him, and guess what? He isn’t a huge fan of yours after your turning on him during the Apocalypse. You certainly don’t want to meet him. Say, in a dark alley?”

Crowley eyed him carefully.

“Then where is he now?”

“You really want to risk your crown here, Crowley?”

“Give me proof, Winchester. You try to bluff with the wrong demon here.”

“Think it through, Crowley. You don’t want to miss the deal you’ll regret.”

“Nah. You, on the other hand. You’ll regret this.”

The struggling and splashing that accelerated just as Sam presented his new proposal by now had grown silent. That left an awful crippling, cold feeling dribble in his guts.

Before he could open his mouth to give in to Crowley’s taunting and risk explaining to Lucifer what he had been up to behind his back a demon knocked him down and then immediately he was slammed up against a tree trunk, strong fingers curled around his throat.

“ _You_ are a threat to my crown,” Crowley told him, back to his business-like smooth accent. “You and your brother might be useful at playing Boogieman on Earth, but there is a limit to your profit. We should forgo another Boy-King rush, don’t you agree?”

With one last, self-assured and disgustingly fake sympathetic smile Crowley waved at the demon as he turned away.

Sam gasped and clawed at the hand around his throat, just a second away from crushing his windpipe, but it was in vain. His own hands soon fell back to his side as his sight slowly started to burn up into darkness…

 

The sky above was clear like a huge dark canvas with silver dots. No cloud near and far.

Thunder rolled in the distance.

Everything froze in the echoing moment of the roar.

 

Next second the demon that had held Sam up pressed against the tree dropped like a lifeless doll. Only the orange light, the distant flicker of hellfire that flashed behind the fence of his teeth served as any indication that it wasn’t simply a button pushed behind his going down. Or maybe it was. The whole scene was too sterile. Simmering with condescending disgust.

Even despite the relief that the rush of air in Sam’s lungs had brought he felt a drop of cold sweat bead at his nape and quickly run down along the column of his spine.

The air was heavy around them. He was pretty sure it wasn’t just his imagination playing tricks on him. Crowley seemed just as uneasy in his skin frozen midstep.

Another flash of smouldering white light and on the wrecked asphalt stood the Morning Star himself – tall and cold in full hellish fallen glory.

Barely more than a soft shadow to his right behind Lucifer stood Meg. She kept a respectful, _adoring_ distance from her creator, her wicked and self-satisfied smirk hidden as Lucifer seemed to take up even the smallest distance between the atoms floating and bumping into each other in the air. At an imagined jerk of his chin Meg slipped away in the sharp shadows, like a well-trained dog set out to bring back the prey.

Lucifer’s eyes were cold as they swept along the scene.

“Crowley, is it?” he asked smooth and sweet. Like a clear brook that maliciously hid away the crystal crunches of glass in its bed.

It didn’t happen any day that the King of Hell had no snarky remark on the tip of his tongue. However, Sam couldn’t find it in himself to smile in his victory. He wasn’t sure if it was time to call winner and loser. Or who would have the chance to get up for another day.

At the flicker of his eyes the remaining demon on the shore dropped next to their kin.

Fear, cold and all-consuming bloomed visibly in Crowley when he realized that Lucifer held him captive in his meatsuit. It was even more unsettling how he failed to control his expression in the moment of panic.

This was Lucifer. The archangel, who had fallen – _who had started it all_ – Sam realized. He felt the Antarctica balled up into a fist sized globe of ice and it took up residence in his throat.

“I believe a deal is in order, isn’t it?”

Crowley swallowed hard, but he still only gaped like a fish thrown on land. Demon and human stared at each other, as if silently asking for direction, under the doom of Lucifer’s ethereal presence.

The soft, but scathingly cold breeze brought the sound of something heavy and wet hitting the ground, spluttering and heaving a few yards down the river.

Lucifer could be patient, but not when there were no cage to restrain his anger. Impatiently, he snapped his fingers, and despite his will and with horror written on his face Crowley was pulled, shoes dragging a long black line on the asphalt like the brake-streaks.

“How should it be?”

“My first terms stand,” Sam stated, his voice disturbingly loud. “You leave Purgatory alone during the war in Heaven.”

“Deal.” Crowley gritted out through clenched teeth, but stuck out his hand. The demon’s eyes flickered to Lucifer back and fro, but the glance never seemed to ever reach the fallen angel’s face. As if he was too bright, and too dark, too blinding, and too horrifying to look at.

 

The clammy warmth of Crowley’s hand lingered still in Sam’s palm, but he didn’t even wonder about why despite his previous taunting Crowley hadn’t pressed for the usual seal of their deal. Lucifer, a moonlight flame shining blinding on the broken road was all his mind could take in. Not the lack of demons, not the shadow of Meg dragging something wet and heavy out from the river, nothing registered in his mind.

Cold crept up from his toes, the air he breathed in was chilly. Sam could feel the ice crystals crunching under his teeth and bumping in his throat.

Lucifer took a step forward. Sam took one back.

But while the angel flowed like a river, graceful and dangerous like a lion on white sands Sam’s limbs barely obeyed the panicked screaming of his brain. He felt ‘deer caught in the headlights’ might be the accurate depiction of his current state.

The fear that seized him up entirely was impossible to reason. But wasn’t that the most terrifying about it? It just hit Sam like a freight-train that he had never seen this side of Lucifer. No matter how many monsters he and Dean had faced from such a tender age, no matter that they had once encaged both Michael and Lucifer, it was nothing. Right at the moment standing in Stull cemetery, struggling with Lucifer for control over his body seemed like a childish fight in a sandbox.

Sam’s breath hitched painfully in his throat when his back hit the tree. He was trapped.

Lucifer crowded him up against the tree. His gaze was cold, vibrant with blue-silver, and painfully hard as he seemed to take in every inch of Sam’s body in a second. A second that lasted a small eternity.

A shiver shook Sam’s whole frame as Lucifer followed the angry bruise on the hunter’s neck with two fingertips. A tingling sensation, and there were no traces of the abuse, of the fight only the dull ache and the disoriented haze beneath the frenzy of the first sharp waves of panic.

“Lucifer,” Sam breathed, air puffing in a thin white cloud.

The angel’s hand curled around Sam’s throat. His touch was light, but nothing gentle. It was hard, like stone.

He kissed Sam on the mouth, pushing his tongue into the cavern, and, unlike other times, he didn’t pull back when the man refused to part his teeth. Lucifer kept on pushing, persistent like the glacier that cannot be stopped.

One hand curled on Sam’s hip, the other slowly slipping from his throat as Sam desperately tried to steal some air from Lucifer’s insistent mouth, to gulp down whatever he could suck out from that infinite space and freezing chaos. When black dots started to dance even behind his screwed shut eyelids Lucifer pulled back, but only far enough to drag his lips along the length of Sam’s neck and latch onto the point where shoulder meets neck.

Sam couldn’t even gasp. He was paralyzed, his brain froze and there were no command going out to his limbs.

Lucifer’s hard body pressed up against him, one knee between his thighs, hip to hip and chest to chest. It was the most terrifying trap, especially that his throat only opened and closed to let in gulps of precious air but apart from heavy panting there was no voice coming out his mouth. He couldn’t tell Lucifer to back off…

Something hot struck through him.

It started in a circle and radiated through his entire frame, clashing with the sensation of Lucifer’s cold.

Jolted from his stupor, Sam’s hands finally warmed up, his fingertips tingled, just brushing them against the fabric of Lucifer’s shirt hurt, but they felt! They moved. Mirroring the angel’s position Sam dug his fingers in Lucifer’s hip, curling around the bone then slipping higher but his side was no softer either. He struggled to get the other between their chests, then pushed, but the only thing that shifted were the bones in his wrist painfully grinding together.

Sam cried out at the next wave of pain.

“Stop it!” he gasped. He attempted another push at Lucifer’s chest. Only his own hand cracked. “Lucifer! Stop, you fucking _liar_!”

Lucifer pulled back.

For a fleeting second Sam barely believed the marble turning flesh under his hands, but the pain flaring in his cracked wrist quickly reminded him how bad the situation was. His anger only flared higher when Lucifer looked at him with reddened, shining lips, and confusion and a shade of irritation in his eyes.

The moment he felt Lucifer’s hands only lingering on him Sam tore off the tree not minding the slow burn of the scratches through his shirt. He stumbled as far as the next tree.

“I told you to stay the fuck away from me when you are angry!”

“If it wasn’t for me—“

“Thank you, then, okay?!” Sam tumbled to another tree when Lucifer took a step towards him. “Thank you fucking much!” he hissed. “But it doesn’t entitle you to _take_ me!”

“I would never.”

“Oh yeah? Then what was this?” Sam pulled the collar of his shirt off his shoulder, showing the angry red bruise he could feel radiating through his torso. He would need time to forget the cold and hard press of Lucifer’s body caging him, taking all chance and say, muting him, taking him—

“If you wore my mark on you, physically visible,” Lucifer answered, his tone low and calm, but also grimly distant, “no one would ever lay a hand on you. You would wear no one’s mark but mine.”

“I’m not yours! I’m not your pet or fuck-toy, I’m not yours!”

The air shuddered. Lightning cracked.

Lucifer disappeared.

 

~*~

 

After Sam regained his breath and got over a minor panic attack if Lucifer would return with the next roll of thunder to smite him and force him into whatever he played at this time another thought ripped through him.

On shaking feet he stumbled over corpses to the river bank. He cursed silently and stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Dean laid out, drenched, limp and covered in dirt, and above all Meg sitting on a cut trunk at his side. She looked bored out of her mind.

“What- what did you do to him?” Sam asked.

“Chill, Sam,” Meg crooned, glancing up from picking at her nails. “I only dragged Dean darling’s heavy, righteous ass out before he drowned in the river. I’d say, I deserve a similar thank you as my Father.”

Sam cringed.

He was so shocked that he didn’t have to fight that he missed his opportunity to back away from Meg. She quickly stood in front of him, leering up at Sam with hooded eyes and a lazy smirk.

“Should I start calling you Mom, I wonder?” Meg teased, fingertip wandering horribly close to the initiative of Lucifer’s mark. Sam snatched her wrist. It didn’t even surprise him that Meg didn’t bat an eye. “Though the way you dumped Lucifer now,” she clicked her tongue in dismay.  “It was really mean of you.”

“It’s none of your business,” Sam snapped irritated.

Meg drifted away before he could draw Ruby’s knife at her. If he still had it on him.

“It was nice to see you again, Sam.” Meg smiled. Demons took their lazy smiles after Lucifer that was sure. “But now, I have another job. See you later boys.”

~*~

The ride back to their motel room was as worse as their family trip when John found out about angels and his wife being a hunter.

The rifle, as expected, only hurt Dean’s shoulder even more, he could barely move his right side. Which left him dripping on the leather seat – “It’ll be a bitch to clean…” He constantly murmured curses under his breath to keep himself conscious.

Sam was no better. Driving with a cracked wrist wasn’t a dream, and the dull ache only spread further. His hairs hurt, damnit.

None of them were in a celebratory mood even after the successful deal.

Checking for injuries would be awesome.

 

~*~

 

Ice cracked in his ear like enormous glaciers breaking from the icecaps in a frenzy of blinding white sparks. Fine ashes filled his nostrils but it still let through the foul smell of brimstone and burning meat. Sam gagged and doubled over. Desperately, he tried to swallow deep to keep the contents of his stomach down, but the feverish heat that hit him made it close to impossible. His shaking hold on the sink slipped off and he fell to grimy but heavenly cool tiles of the motel bathroom.

A miserable whimper escaped his dry lips. He clamped his mouth shut just in time that he didn’t have a chance of forming actual words. His first instinct - what a terrifying one! – was to call out for Lucifer. One part of his mind pushed ideas of cool skin and the fresh taste of kisses into the fever…

He knew better! He knew better by now!

Lucifer wasn’t a saint! He wasn’t tamed, he was raw in nature and his hatred boiled just as hot as before.

 

The universe rushes at him, a massive assault directed at all his senses at the same time. He feels the sun’s silky touch on his face and its burning power peeling the skin off his back in the dry desert. Wind ruffles his hair in the high heavens surrounded by clouds, and the humidity of a rainforest drowns him. The smell of flowers, green, and earth, and rain tickle his nostrils; there is heaven and earth turning, churning, colliding and crashing inside him.

He is aware of everything all at once.

It’s beautiful. Earth. Glorious, a real masterpiece.

Sam finds himself in a garden. There are rose bushes just before full bloom.

In front of him a warehouse towers, broken, smoke-tainted. Gunshots light up the windows. Screams, and cries, and grunting drift down to him, muffled through the walls. The sky over is steely blue. Lightning cracks searing white and not a second after thunder cracks. He feels its sting on his back. Storm rages right above him.

Right inside him.

Those lights flicker among the shards of his wings.

He looks down – his foot rests on Dean’s throat, tilting his head, if Sam moves an inch Dean’s neck would snap, that faint glimmer of life would be gone from his dark green eyes.

“You don’t have to be afraid of me,” he says softly, sadly. “I win. So I win.”

The sky suddenly is engulfed in black and red smoke, blood starts to rain and soak the hungry earth. The rose bushes stretch their roots, meshing corpses, dead bodies Sam had never seen. They suck dry blonde women, broken and torn and burnt, there is Dad, scruffy and old, a man with dark hair and trench coat, and the strings reach out for Dean, they pulsate around him—

Sam screams and screams, but there is nothing he can do as he feels the muscles shift in his body. Preparing a new set of balance, strength gathers in his knee, radiates down to his foot—

 

“Sam. Sam, hey!”

Cry raw in his throat Sam jolts awake. Instinctively he grasps for the hand shaking his shoulder, and Nick gasps in pain above him, falling to one knee on the ground.

Panting still, Sam’s vision starts to clean. No roses, no thunder, no lightning, no dead bodies, no Dean, but the tears still make everything swim.

“Hey, kid, it’s okay. It was just a bad dream,” Nick murmurs, reassuring, low and soft, a little lost and teetering on the edge himself. But it’s enough.

Like a drowning man, Sam launches at the older man, and Nick goes with it. With a grunt he pushes himself up to sit on the edge of the bed, and pulls Sam closer. The teen is soon sobbing the horrors of his nightmare in Nick’s T-shirt, soaking up the sensation of the cool caress of his hands on his sweat-drenched back.

 

Even after he is soothed and embarrassed for his breakdown beyond reason Nick only smiles at him gently. He offers to go back down into a secluded room from the shop (that’s still crammed full with books) and play a game of chess.

Sam hides his blush under the curtain of his shaggy hair and nods. He wrings his hands. Chess is fine. He likes playing chess with Nick even at such ungodly hour. Especially at such ungodly hour.

“Or I can finish reading up for you.” Nick offers with a glint of a knowing smile.

The blush spreads down Sam’s neck, even his chest is flushed. Nick is a fucking mind-reader. But Sam cannot deny it, there is a charm, something ethereal beauty in the way the man reads, his voice flowing through Sam.

“That would be great,” he says, all bashful. He would smack himself for it later.

Nick only pats his knee. “Come on, then.”

Sam disentangles himself from the soaked up sheets, and like a small kid, follows Nick down the stairs.

He remembers the night, about a week ago when he couldn’t sleep and ventured down, just to find a book to occupy his mind until his eyes finally drooped, just to find Nick downstairs, wide awake. The man offered for the first time to read up for Sam, he just started The Hobbit after all. Sam chuckled. He had read it a while back, when he was bored at high school, but decided it should suffice.  

He remembers how Nick sang the little songs gently. Sam was mesmerized.

On their way down he tries to remember if there are any more songs after Smaug set out to attack Laketown.

 


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keeping up with the curses that might put a sailor to shame Dean scrambles out of the car. He is so not talking to Michael in such a confined place where just being at the periphery of that intense sight if taking his breath away. 
> 
> “I’m so fucking done with your obsession with the Apocalypse!” he barks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took me some time again to write this. The last few paragraphs were really difficult to come up with... but in exchange have some Dean/Michael for this whole chapter.
> 
> Title is from Marina and the Diamonds.
> 
> I hope you'll like it. Let me know in any case! :)

**Dream of a stairway to the Skies**

**Chapter 12**

**_Rootless_ **

 

Cold water closes in around him.

There is no tiny space between cells where it cannot freeze. He tries to keep his mouth shut, resist the burn in his lungs that only manage to fight the cold for bare seconds before they turn to ice and no more oxygen can be squeezed in or pushed out from them. His heart hammers at his ribcage, so desperate to keep him alive but it’s only torture.

He forces his eyes to stay open.

Maybe, maybe he can find the source of light and make out where is up and down despite the venomous fibres sweeping into his eye sockets. His sight is blurry – tiny nails prickle at the edges. There is nothing to see.

It’s crawling up – or down? – along the length of his body. Wrapped around his wrist, his ankles, writhes itself beneath the thin layer of skin into the frozen tunnels of his veins into his bones –

Dean screams, forgetting that he only opens up to the assault of the darkness around him, but for the moment it’s all secondary because the marrow in his bones is suddenly lit on fire. For one spark of the moment it is magma filling his whole being, melting his body before the water takes reign again and he is put back together.

Just so that next time claws, razors and knives can maul at his meat carving malicious symbols into his bones.

Hooks penetrate his shoulders through bones and torn muscle. Dean screams again, for whom he doesn’t know, he only screams for help, the name on his bloodied lips is just another desperate wheeze for air –

The darkness cuts at his throat like razors—

And God! It all tastes thick and salty and metallic – Blood! His blood—

Black and red flashes in front of his eyes – does he even still have his eyes? – Laughter screeches in the holes that once were his ears—

_“You started it.”_

~*~

Dean jolts with a gasp. Automatically he reaches for his throat, wheezing so desperate and so grateful that the air is warm and he cannot feel the aftertaste of blood at the back of his tongue. It’s warm metal and leather and fresh air from the rolled down windows. With a relieved sigh he slouches back against his seat.

It was just a nightmare. Another one. But just another one.

He is in the Impala. He remembers going to sleep in his Baby because Sam was edgy, and exhausted, and he was too, injured and pissed and so fucking tired! That was really not what he needed right then. That or another argument over the fucking Devil.

He is safe.

“Hello Dean,” he hears from his right.

His head snaps in the direction of the smooth voice and his chest fills up cold while the blood rushes hot in his ears.

It isn’t Cas. It’s not the familiar gravelly tone. Michael is sitting by his side with that stupid silver lining on his hawk-like sharp features.

“What the Hell?” Dean cries, and if the fucker dares to retort with a smug “ _Guess again.”_ Dean is going to rip him to tiny bloody pieces because that’s Cas’ line. “The fuck?! What are you doing here?”

“I don’t need you to ‘tip me off’ to find you in your dream Dean.” Michael tells him, his gaze intense on some spot in the far distance.

Dean curses under his breath. Of fucking course! He should have known he was dreaming. His arm is intact, and after all the Impala is parked in the middle of a goddamn living room!

Keeping up with the curses that might put a sailor to shame Dean scrambles out of the car. He is so not talking to Michael in such a confined place where just being at the periphery of that intense sight if taking his breath away.

“I’m so fucking done with your obsession with the Apocalypse!” he barks.

A small part of him wonders how he isn’t even winded at all by the fact that Michael doesn’t even open the door to look at him over the top of the Impala. Fucking angels and their fucking mojo!

“The world is desperate to end every goddamn year, we’ve crossed you out of schedule. You are not part of the story anymore, as you so kindly put it last time. Suck it up dude, and leave my planet alone!”

Michael tilts his head to the side before carefully laying his elbows on the polished top of the car.

“Apparently you are wrong,” he pronounces arrogantly. “This is not your planet. It might have been given to you to rule and take care of but it’s not your decision if its end has come or not. Secondly,” Michael’s hard look stops Dean from angrily interrupting him on his high-and-mighty bullshit. “I would appreciate if you stopped misusing my Father’s name.”

“Oh really?”

The angel arches an eyebrow in annoyance. “Don’t make me throw you back in that nightmare of Hell of yours.”

“Are we back to threats this quickly?” Dean smirks coldly. “First you make it clear you hold the fate of the Earth still in your goddamn hands, you filthy liar. Or do you expect me to fall on my knees and worship you for being so nice? You are the dick who doesn’t bat an eye on the fucking Devil holing himself up in my brothers’ heads!”

Even though the angel’s jaw tightened at Dean’s persistent blasphemous speech his tone remains even and tempered, “Lucifer means no evil.”

“He _is_ the definition of evil! The freaking Devil, man! What the hell is wrong with you?! He is getting stronger by the day, roaming the earth as he pleases and you just sit idly watching?!”

Michael regards Dean with a carefully unreadable expression, the heat from his glare gone for the moment.

“I’m learning trust.” He answers finally.

“Trusting Satan? What’s the proof that he won’t betray you again?”

“Isn’t that the point of having faith?”

“Sorry, but I’m not strong on _faith._ ”

“Shame.” Michael says. In his pause he feels uncomfortably earnest and sympathetic. “I put my trust into my brother. He might be the Satan you grew to know and hate but he is also the Morning Star I would have died for any day. And I’m trying to redeem my old mistake. You should understand what it means.”

Dean does. But it doesn’t mean he also wants to. He refuses to accept that Lucifer has ever been anything but a twisted winged douchebag who wants to see his world burn because Daddy was mean to him.

By the lack of arrogance and self-assured douchiness in Michael’s tone it sounds like Dean isn’t the only one with a Mount Everest size of doubts. Only the angel’s ego is so huge in comparison he can easily look over that mountain and consider it a small bump in the landscape.

“How is it just me? Am I the only sane person here? You can’t trust the Devil. That’s it. This is how it goes!”

“Not even if he is the only one who can heal your brother?”

Dean’s eyes widen.

No, no, _no_.

That is not going to happen. Sammy is fine. He is fine, the wall hasn’t come down. Cas might have cracked it, but it still stands. It’s barely more nightmares than usual, but Dean can deal with his own memories of Hell; this cannot be anything worse for Sam. Sam is stronger. Strong and free-willed. He can manage better than Dean who has to command himself every day to gather his shit together and go on for another 24 hours. Sam is fine. He needs no help from the Devil. The Devil who caused all that shit in his little brother’s head.

“Dean,” Michael tries to step closer.

The angel cautiously reaches for him but Dean jerks away as if he was burnt. His pulse is picking up, he can feel his heart thundering in his chest again and the panic rises with bile in his throat by each beat.

“You don’t trust the one who made Hell what it is!” he gasp-shouts.

He is suffocating.

Sliced and torn, a blink later he isn’t standing in the living room anymore. There is thick blood-black oil up to his waist dark and flimsy, disgusting and it’s crawling up his sides reaching for his bleeding hands and throat to drown him, drag down and hang on the hooks penetrating his shoulders and hip.

“Dean.” Michael calls his name again.

This time Dean is too paralyzed to answer. The flames burst into existence in the corners of the dungeon, they burn high. Sparks crack and the light glides on the slick surface of the oil with ease. Destruction blazes like this.

Michael reaches out and cups the hunter’s face in one warm palm turning the fear-filled blind eyes on himself. “Dean. Calm down.”

Orders.

He can do orders. Dean clings to the firm tone and gathering up all he has got left he compels his pulse to slow down. Inhale and exhale. In for three, out for four counts. There it is. He can feel his lungs expand to full capacity as panic bleeds out of his system.

All along Michael’s thumb caresses barely there circles on his cheek. Grounding.

Next time Dean opens his eyes they are in a much smaller room. Clean and warm and strangely familiar.

“I have always been wondering,” Michael says as he glances around, “What is this place to you?”

Dean swallows hard. He remembers the last time he saw this room. He was wearing an ‘I wuv hugs’ T-shirt and his Mom was making breakfast. He and Sammy were running through their Heaven to get away from Zachariah and Michael.

With narrowed eyes he glances at the angel.

“What are we doing here?” He asks, breathless.

“I was searching for something enjoyable to tear you out of your twisted memories of Hell.”

Twisted, he says, huh? Dean grits his teeth as he turns around; his gaze zeroes in on the archangel who looks way _too_  interested in running his finger along the seam of one truck-patterned pillow.

“You’ve been digging around my mind?!”

“Just what I found necessary.”

“Who gave you the fucking right to—?!”

“Dean.” Michael interrupts him. His voice makes Dean shut up immediately. “I would rather expect some gratitude.”

Dean is pretty sure he makes a really good imitation of a fish gaping on land. A very crimson fish that might as well be a shark in this very moment. He is speechless he is so angry right now!

Sensing the tension crackling in the silence that settled between them Michael finally looks up from the trucks – he couldn’t have been so engrossed with some stupid trucks! There is a disapproving frown in place.

“I searched for the first bright memory and I pulled at its edge a little.” The archangel explains eventually. “I’m not that interested in your personal Hell to dwell too much on your memories.”

“This should make me feel so much better!”

“I’d appreciate more if you shared them with me willingly.”

“Fuck you.”

That’s all Dean can growl out before he turns his back on Michael, who is really, but really, awful at being snarky or maybe sappy (probably not the wisest move but his mind is too clouded by anger to care), and stomps to the door. He tears it open and nearly steps into deep, deep nothingness. If it wasn’t for Michael suddenly turning up at his elbow to grab him tight and pull back into his old bedroom.

“What the fuck, man?”

Michael only answers him when he plunked Dean’s ass on the bed. The springs squeak and Dean bounces a bit. Michael on the other hand sits down a feet away with his signature I’m-holier-than-thou grace. Motherfucker, Dean thinks annoyed and maybe a bit embarrassed.

“I didn’t feel it important to widen this dream any further,” Michael shrugs without moving.

Fucking angels. And hooray! It’s been on the top of Dean’s to do list to share his four hours of shut eye with this douchebag. Fucking fantastic.

Dean has no idea how time goes in dreams (it must be something just as screwed as it is in Hell and Heaven) but it feels like debatably the worst five to endless minutes he has ever spent with anyone. Hanging out with a demon for hours trapped in a devil’s trap and a cellar is better than sitting next to Michael! The guy tries to breathe, but he does it so perfectly and measured that he is driving Dean crazy! Mr. Goody-two-shoes definitely aced the Human 101 class but he’s so unnatural at it it’s offensive.

Silence has never been so frustrating. But Dean just has the solution for the problem, but he would sooner die a hundred deaths than open up to Michael until he is ready to take that jump into the abyss over the threshold – no matter what Adam claims about the angel.

“Hey, how much do you know about Heavenly business?” he asks eventually, because that small snowball of thought has grown huge enough to start an avalanche.

Michael levels him with a _look_.

“Human Heavenly I mean,” Dean corrects himself begrudgingly. He already hates himself for opening his damn mouth.

“There is a strict rule in order against angels mingling with humans’ personal heavens.” Michael answers.

He cannot help a scoff though. “Yeah. As you had left Adam be. Poor kid was just about to enjoy his little holiday and you dragged him back over schedule.”

Is it Dean or did Michael’s spine straighten a bit? As if he was personally offended. The fucker.

“How else do you think resurrection works?”

“Apparently your second in command totally disregarded your _orders_.”

“My second in command is Raphael,” Michael corrects him with a sniffy look. “If you mean Zachariah he was… desperate to keep his position.”

“You were about to fire him?”

“I did.”

Dean finds himself in a bright mood of gloating over the douchebag. So he was actually pretty spot on when he taunted Zachariah with his smitten future perspectives. Michael really looks like he didn’t like his secretary – or whatever the fucker was among overjuiced canaries. But he soon sobers up.

“It doesn’t make it all right what he did with Adam. Doesn’t it mean that you should have kicked his ass to Hell or whatever for disobeying? You know, instead of giving him a second chance.”

“It would have been in order.”

There is a _but_ hanging in the air clear as day. So Dean cannot just leave it like that. “So why didn’t you?”

“Whose heaven are you interested in?” Michael asks instead, voice indifferent just as always.

Dean dry-swallows. Suddenly all lightness of the situation is gone, the ground of inquisition is pulled from beneath his feet and the awkwardness and embarrassment takes its place. Okay, easy. Let’s start with the easier question.

“My Mom. She is in Heaven, right?”

“Yes.”

For the record, Dean has a real good job at not letting his annoyance and disappointment show. It is nice that Michael doesn’t even have to ponder the thought, like going through some list of Heaven-residents or however it works upstairs, but he would also appreciate some extra information. He really could drop a little more if he changed the subject so abruptly! It’s just too annoyingly sterile!

“Is she okay?”

Michael sends him another of his unnerving condescending looks.

“Human souls are unaware of their condition. They live in their personal Heaven of their most precious memories without a tint of shadows.” There must be something showing from Dean’s inner pleas for just a little bit of specification, because as Michael searches the hunter’s face with his unblinking eyes he adds. “Most of the time Mary Winchester is tucking you and Sam in bed. Reading bedtime stories and singing to you. At others she is bringing John home to introduce him to her parents.”

There is that feeling of someone pulling the plug from his stomach and his heart is being swallowed while there are a bunch of butterflies tightening his throat and trying to keep his vital organs in their place. But it is not from fear or any kind of sadness. It is an awful way of feeling happy, and Dean is really tempted to rub his palm down his face just to cover the wet gleam of his eyes.

“And Dad?” He ventures on a hoarser voice than he feels comfortable with. Annoyingly or not, though, if Michael catches the reason behind his tone he doesn’t let it show. “Did he— could he make it to Heaven too?”

“Why are you so worried about him?”

“He sold his soul for me,” Dean says, his throat feels like sandpaper.

“So did you.” Michael gives it back detachedly.

“But he didn’t break the first seal for you!” Dean snaps and jumps to his feet. “And you didn’t want to wear him to gank your brother!”

Even though he is towering over the archangel he doesn’t feel the power of the situation. He only feels the pent up tension coil and burn in him.

Michael isn’t moved at all by the hunter’s flashing eyes. “Why,” He presses again, “is it so important?”

Dean glares back at him. His lips are a firm, thin line and his jaw is ready to snap.

Why? Because Dean needs to know. He needs to know if his family is all right, even if not alive, and not on this goddamn planet then in Heaven.

Heck, everybody knows that the Winchesters have family issues. Hell knows, hadn’t Alistair just rubbed it in his face? Heaven knows, everyone on Earth knows, even a stranger FBI agent could pinpoint at first glance Dean’s strained daddy issues.

Dean is not blind either. He is more aware than anyone that he has problems.

He needs to be sure so that he can cut off those roots that pull him back onto the ground constantly, cutting and tearing at him. He needs to pull them up and drift away.

He needs to know because—

“It’s about my Dad,” Dean answers, voice low and raspy in his throat. “Wouldn’t you want to know, no matter what, where is yours?”

 Michael regards him for a long while.

“By the time you went to Hell,” he says softly, “Your father has already redeemed himself.”

As if a ton of lead had been cut from his throat, a deep sigh rips from Dean’s chest. He slumps back onto the bed; he doesn’t even mind that he has slipped closer to Michael.

“Is he with Mom?” Dean asks gently.

“Yes and no. He falls in love with her though, even as we speak. They are getting closer. Soon they’ll share their heavens. Your father is very proud of you, Dean.”

“You don’t know that,” Dean snorts and cuts a glare at the angel.

“Why wouldn’t I?” Michael arches a brow just by a thought, pressing his perfectly carved palm to the middle of his chest. It lies spread over his stolen heart.

“Because you’re a fucking liar. You trick, and lie and if it doesn’t work you’re quick to move to force.”

“Harsh words.”

“But true! You just want me broken and open, willing to say your fucking yes.”

“Maybe I’m rather steeling you,” Michael says and looks deep in Dean’s eyes. There is something mesmerizing, terrifying and painful. For an utterly different reason what Dean would feel comfortable with. “There is some inexplicable appeal in strength.”

“Don’t sweat it, buttercup,” Dean’s lips draw into a wry lopsided grin. “I’m broken. In so many places.”

While Dean just wants to brush off the topic, the discussion ending on his part with a dry chuckle, Michael just watches him with that unnameable, intense look that makes the hunter’s heart pound in his chest as if it wanted to hammer its way out of his ribcage just to rest in Michael’s palm.

“And that’s why you only grow stronger.” Michael pauses. His eyes, though sharply trained on Dean, look far-far away into the heart of the universe. “You, Winchesters, are full of faith.”

Dean scoffs.

“Nice to know you listen to the shit I’ve got to say.”

“You don’t necessarily put it in the right people, but you carry hope. You believe in change. And this faith, though stupid in nature, truly is marvellous.”

There is something odd in Michael’s tone. Something that makes Dean’s mouth run dry and his throat close up.

“You don’t believe in change,” he croaks out, stunned.

In that moment he doesn’t know if he feels horrified of this implication or if he should burst with anger. Michael just told him that he was learning trust. But without faith, and with that look on his hard face, the carefully measured neutrality of his voice, how is he supposed to suddenly start trusting his nemesis? There are chances that his strategic holy ass is just waiting for the right opportunity to stab his brother in the heart. Which, at that presumed point, would be Dean’s little brother’s heart—

Surprisingly Dean doesn’t feel either.

Things can change. Fuck Holy Archangel Michael and his fucking concept of free will!

Even though Dean stands his ground firmer than ever regarding Satan and his brother he so desperately wants to prove Michael wrong!

For a good while, though, they only sit in silence.

Michael doesn’t deny or affirm Dean’s statement, and it is scarier than anything. It means resignation hidden under a carefully crafted blank mask. Dean knows it way too well from the mirror.

He would swear Michael, too, can feel his heart racing. Actually this is the only thing Dean can hear as the blood pounds rhythmically in his ear. Especially now as he is sliding closer and closer until their thighs line up with Michael.

For a second the angel tenses up. He is marble filled with magma from the inside, then he forces himself to relax. Surprise written in the arch of his brow he looks at Dean. From very-very close. In that moment Dean is hyperaware of everything. He can see all shades of dark green with hairline fractures of lightning blue that simmer through and crack in a thin ring around the pupil. He feels he could count the eyelashes, and it suddenly seems a really-really bad idea…

Just as he is about to jerk back Michael turns his head in his direction, question and confusion with slowly dawning realization in his gaze.

Dean swears internally, then, the opportunity of dancing back taken from him, he leans in the final inch. He kisses Michael.

His lips are dry from the nerves and it is a bit awkward since Michael’s are soft and warm – a voice in his head howls that it is his father he is kissing, but he quickly slams heavy teller doors at it. It _is_ Michael. Perfectly carved warm marble, radiating safety on the way a dagger under his pillow does when he lays his head to sleep.

The kiss is soft, a lingering crazy thought, and fleeting. Yet still it is heavy, a thin dam before all the things Dean had said. It is so uncharacteristic, and so different, and thus so important. Something that cannot be unmade.

When he feels the fingertips just below his jaw Dean jerks back to himself.

Flushing dark pink and his eyes wide open he wants to pull back, but Michael holds him gently. Cradling the back of his skull the angel tilts their heads so that their foreheads touch. Michael is feverishly warm, and there is an instinct that is kicked into full mother-hen gear at that but Dean still manages to nub it in the bud. In comparison his own breathing is shallow and ragged, hot puffs against Michael’s reddened lips, and he is close enough to a mini freak-out that he doesn’t want to fuss over a goddamn angel if they are sick or what.

Dean is more aware of the tension slipping away from his body. He feels alien and strangely at home in his own skin. Its soothing only grows the longer he watches Michael.

Apart from the pinched brows into a painful frown his closed eyes, eyelashes fanning over the sharp cut of his cheekbone, the straight line of his nose brushing to Dean’s at each deep breath, the tight lines dissolving around his mouth Michael looks like a real angel. Smooth, royal, hard, and still living somehow. An Archangel.

Dean forces his own eyes to close. He desperately tries to concentrate on the peace alone that cruises in his bloodstream. Just that serenity and nothing of the prickling warmth that is as much tickling as it is a myriad of needles prodding at his heart.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Probably you have realized now that at some point I decided to start using present tense to separate dreams from what is actually happening. When I'll have the strength for it I'll revisit the earlier chapters to make it a consistent thing. Also I'll have to revisit Lucifer's character in the early chapters too. *annoyedly rubs at her temples*
> 
> Though right now I'd need a lot of time and also some help because the following chapters are really problematic. As in I feel I haven't thought over everything properly and I more often than not come to the conclusion that they are stupid. But cannot come up with anything better, and there are also fleeting moment when i sounds just right. It's awful. 
> 
> So terribly sorry, I have no idea when I'll update next :(


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam's dreams and memories are all mixed up, and soon, he'll really have to confront what is real and what isn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at that what a long chapter~! I hope you'll like it even despite that. Sorry that you had to wait so long for my update.
> 
> Title is from Fall Out Boy same titled song.

**Dream of a stairway to the Skies**

**Chapter 13**

**_Let’s Be Alone Together_ **

 

The market was overflowing with life and just once Sam let go and tried his best to enjoy it. God knew he needed a break from Dean’s constant grumbling, bitching, and glaring, and all that spiced with the worry swarming in his eyes was truly insufferable.

Plus stretching his legs, wading in the crowd, his eyes sharp this time not for monsters but for the most delicious-looking fruits was truly refreshing.

He picked up a bright red apple. Its scent was sweet, ripe, and fresh. Truly enticing.

_“Man’s greatest and first temptation.”_

Sam jerked his head to the side but he didn’t see anyone. Only a grey-haired lady passed with her whining grandson clinging to her hand.

He carefully put the fruit back in its crate, and eyes cast to the next stall, but ears perked he continued in his tracks.

_“I really hate this place_ , _”_ this time Sam didn’t make any indication of catching the drawled complaints. _“Swarming with human filth. Seeking servers of all pitiful poverty of matter.”_

Surprisingly, while the words were dripping with venom, Sam caught some strange vibration of amusement in them.

A chill, both out of cold and of excitement, ran along his spine.

Then to his greatest shock Sam heard his own voice speaking.

_“Don’t be so grumpy,”_ he said, _“It’d be nice if once in a while your pantry would see something fresh. Plus you can find better prices here.”_

While Sam didn’t turn his head, he saw Lucifer level him with a vibrant look, condescending but bemused, then shrug.

_“You’re paying. It’s none of my business what you do on Sundays.”_

Sam stood stunned in front of a stall that offered all kinds of berries. He didn’t even flinch when the owner asked him if she could help him in his search.

_It was Thursday noon._

~*~

“So, is it going to be another one of those secrets under seven seals the whole damn world knows about?”

“What?”

“Yeah, act dumb, Sammy. That’s how we roll.”

“You know what? Fuck you. Sorry if I’m a bit confused of your sudden morphine indulged urge for a heart-to-heart. I’m not a mind reader. Specify.”

Dean levelled Sam with a long, calculating look.

“That traumatizing moment when Lucifer was about to rape you?”

Sam’s hand froze mid-air, the apple barely just didn’t fall from his fingers.

“Nothing… It was not—that’s not what happened,” he stammered out.

“Oh come on, Sam! I haven’t drowned then _yet_.” His eyes flashed with accusation over the flood of worry. “Lucifer crowded you up against a tree? Ring a bell?”

_Cold. He was so cold. And defenceless. Exposed to the licks of the freezing flames_.

“And even if he asked for your yes, Sam, that’s using fucking force!”

_His pupils were blown till they swallow even the white in his eyes. The sharp white light easily flowed into his skull, filling every tiny crease and socket, burning his brain until there was nothing left but all-consuming fear._

“Dean…!”

 “… if you let him in. I told you so!”

“Dean!” Sam snapped and that finally shut Dean up as well. “Nothing happened. You were in the river, remember? I pumped a gallon of water out of your lungs, man.”

Courtesy of some miracle Sam managed to put enough long-suffering and conviction in his voice to deter Dean from further arguments. He looked actually unsure, for a second he believed that it was only his worrying big brother mind on overdrive.

“Sammy, if he hurts you…”

“I know, Dean.” Sam sent his brother a tired little smile. “Don’t worry, it’s okay.”

Dean really wanted to believe Sam. He really did. But the feeling just didn’t let him rest that Sam wouldn’t tell him. He was the type to take all the blame and suffer in silence.

 

~*~

 

“Hello?”

“Hey! It’s Sam. Finally you answered, I was getting worried!” Sam called into the phone, and even despite the obvious irritation ringing in Adam’s voice he raked his hand through his mane with relief.

“About what? Sorry that I don’t answer unknown numbers.”

“But you’ve called us before. Shouldn’t you have saved our number?”

“For the record it was Dad’s I didn’t call mutilated from the crypt.”

“Oh, I—I’m sorry, Adam, I didn’t mean to, to bring it up. Uh—“

“ _Sarcasm_ , Sam,” Adam said with an eyeroll that definitely had a sound and came across perfectly through the line. It wasn’t on the same level as Sam’s bitchfaces but it was close enough. A few years and Dean would have to put up with the occasional threat of double bitchfaces turned at his assholish schemes. “Anyway you should be more worried when I start reacting to all this bat-shit craziness like a normal human being. I know about your relationship with clowns.”

“I should feel terrified I suppose.”

“You should. I sometimes listen when your boyfriend talks to me.”

Sam most definitely didn’t blush. “Do you know, ugh, what he is up to?” he asked nervously instead.

“Luce?” Adam kept a pause for which Sam’s eyebrows could run up to his hairline at the name. “Not killing me, thank God. No Apocalypse in sight either so…”

Then maybe Satan didn’t take it _so_ bad that Sam had dumped him. Sam internally winced. Please let this be the case! (Unfortunately it seemed way too miraculous that Lucifer’s pride took it so well for the second time.)

“Since when do you call him… Luce?”

“Since I’m at work and wouldn’t it be just wonderful if I was caught bragging about the Devil having nice chats with me?”

“But are things okay?”

“I’m living with two archangels, who are avoiding each other again, and have brothers who seriously don’t know how to leave their stranger little bro to his lunch. Yeah. All’s super cool.”

Sam smiled, his eyes finally lifting from the pavement to the front of the houses, catching a wide strip of blue sky.

“Where are you working? Still at the animal shelter?”

“You just can’t take a subtle leave me alone, do you?”

“I just thought we could talk a bit,” Sam risked, a bit unsure himself. Had Adam really mean it when he told Dean that he was okay with getting to know his brothers a little bit more?

“I’m studying to be a doctor, not a psychologist. And if you want to gossip about your boyfriend, ask Michael instead.”

“No, no,” At least Adam didn’t hang up on him. He sounded actually kind of amused. “Animals and people aren’t that much the same, though, you know.” No matter what certain angels claimed. “Why don’t you work at a hospital?”

“It can’t take two Milligans. Mom would kill me.” Adam shrugged on the other end.

Despite his nonchalance though, Sam picked up something interesting that made a grin curl at the edge of his mouth.

“Is it because of a girl?”

“No!” _Busted._

“It totally is.”

“You know what? I really need to eat my lunch—“

“Come on, Adam,” Sam chuckled at his brother’s flustered attempt at settling him. “I haven’t had a big brotherly gossip-y chat my entire life.”

“More like big sisterly,” Adam retorted dryly.

“Humour me.”

 

Talking to Adam was a nice attempt at taking his mind off of Lucifer. Also it put him in a good mood enough to ignore Dean’s grumbling. As per usual, the older Winchester wasn’t overly fond of the sling restraining his shoulder. Now, however, even Sam denied his brother the opportunity to take it out on him.

Their quarrel later was cut short when Dean didn’t manage to slam the door properly behind himself on his way out to the local bar.

 

~*~

 

After that first time Michael has grown bold and decided it was a good idea to accompany Dean in all of his dreams. Sometimes just as a dark shadow, observing and unmoving at the sidelines, only the air quivered around him as a touch of his real powers contained by an illusion of a vessel, sometimes he just sits next to the hunter when he dreams himself into the Impala.

Just like now. The road under the wheels smooth and infinite, the sky golden grey, still unmade over them after the powder-bloody dawn has slipped away, and the wind ruffles their hair.

Yet, Dean is frustrated. The sole reason is the archangel who brings tension crackling in the air around him flaring sparks and electricity to dance on his bare forearms making the fine hairs stand on end.

Such small details catch his attention that he would prefer to erase from his brain, even if he had to carve out the part responsible for images with a spoon cracking his own skull open. He doesn’t care for the pale gold lining on the sharp features, he doesn’t care for the sun-like gleam in those dark green eyes nor how relaxed Michael seems sprawled in the leather seat, nor his lips—

Dean doesn’t trust Michael. He doesn’t trust him with burning passion and he has a thousand reasons and more for that. A major one being that the archangel sure as hell is full of ulterior motives. Second being the way Michael could make Dean frustrated. Tense, and hot, skin too tight, and prickling at every lingering touch he swears he could feel! Now, Dean really isn’t the sappy one but there is no other way he could describe it than his soul longing for Michael. Which is creepy way beyond a chubby naked man who bursts into tears if you didn’t hug him. How couldn’t he trust his own goddamn soul?!

His fingers curl harder around the steering wheel, because his only other option is to sit on them and, dream or not, all his instincts scream against letting go of the car. He is warm under the collar, and his head is light, dizzy, and whenever he turns just the slightest it is as if his skull had been filled with water and its weight is simply pulling him down. In Michael’s direction.

Kissing Michael on that faithful night just to prove him how many things can change was definitely his worst fucking idea ever.

Because it has occurred to him several times ever since.

Dean needed only a few drinks to get fairly tipsy and immediately Michael’s arrogance sounded with an amused undertone, his headtilt turned adorable, his face handsome, hands fascinating, and his voice a low drawl with a melody to it that made Dean throw his troubles out the window. 

It was really- _really_ bad.

Like maybe not as bad as Sam fucking Satan, because Dean only catered to his basic needs and in the mornings still knew where his head was, but it is still really fucking bad.

Without a second thought, with surprising ease that is only possible in dreams, Dean’s earlier concerns about the Impala running on her own also thrown to the wind, he quickly climbs into Michael’s lap and seals their lips together.

A surprised little gasp escapes Michael, and Dean smiles smugly into the press of their mouths.

Then he flinches away with a groan and a frown of indignation at the crack of Michael’s grace pinching his lip where he was busy suckling on the angel’s bottom lip a moment ago. He glares as Michael looks back at him, dismay darkening his gaze.

“What’s wrong, buttercup?” Dean teases with a wry smirk. “Was I only good until I won you a bet?”

“You were at a bar again.”

“Not enjoying alcohol much? Or is it that I’d never kiss you sober? Cause really, you never kiss _me_ —“

Michael’s eyes are so serious they are giving Dean the chills of his life.

“I’m more worried about your consent.”

At the deadly tone for a second Dean just stares at the angel. Next second he bursts out laughing, loud and he throws his head back whole body shaking with its force. It’s so fucking ridiculous! The last time Michael would be concerned about Dean’s consent is about vessel issues because he doesn’t have any other way to get ‘round that, but a damn kiss?

“Oh that’s funny!” Dean gasps between bursts of laughter. “That’s hilarious!”

He only doesn’t fall against the dashboard because Michael’s hands are secure points of warmth on his hips.

When the seizure doesn’t seem to pass and Dean continues to laugh like a madman wheezing how hilarious it is Michael’s frown deepens. He presses two fingers to Dean’s forehead, and like a button pushed the hunter quiets down. Hands resting on Michael’s shoulder he blinks once, twice at the angel, confused, before his eyes regain their usual sharpness. They flare like green flames, his fingers curl, bunching up the material of the jacket on the other’s shoulder, and dives back in to smash their mouths together.

This kiss is rough and burning with anger. This time, however, Michael reciprocates. He is heat and golden red sparks, all consuming, all devouring, destructive, and Dean is eager to open up his mouth for a new battlefield.

Dean is the first to tear away, breathless and shiny-lipped.

“Don’t. Ever. Do. That.” He growls pushing Michael back into his seat. “I didn’t throw my money out for nothin’. Who the fuck do you think you are?”

“The Viceroy of Heaven, Defender of Divine Glory, Leader of the Angelic Host, Guardian of F—“

Before he could go on listing all his holy titles until the alarm goes off Dean clamps a hand on Michael’s mouth. Leaning so close his breath is hot on the back of his palm he snarls, “You still ain’t allowed to take my buzz away.”

Michael only curls a lazy smirk that is vibrant in his eyes along with the shades of pity and amusement.

“You are a fighter Dean,” Michael says, without his lips forming the words. They drip directly into his mind. Dean doesn’t shudder at the velvety teasing tone because he is still blind with rage. “A fighter and a killer.”

Meanwhile Michael’s thumbs rub aimless circles on his hip just over his waistband.

“You’d be best soldier in any army.”

“I don’t care for your army,” Dean spits back. He takes away his hand, because really, what’s the point now? He wipes it off on Michael’s jacket as if the angel had spat on him. “You are just another monster Michael. I’ll kill you.”

“Certainly,” Michael drawls, but doesn’t even bother to hide the shiver that runs through him at the death threat. His eyes flash and swarm, his grace surging beneath the cracks in the iris. Dean finds himself captivated by the burning sight. “See, I might have my weaker moments, but killing an angel includes killing a vessel as well. I’m sure you don’t want to risk that.”

Dean clenches his teeth so hard his whole body tenses up under Michael’s hands. 

“I’ll find a way,” Dean says.

The hand previously forgotten on Michael’s shoulder now curls around his throat.

“I don’t doubt your skills.” Michael says and tilts his head back, taunting so that Dean’s fingers have a better hold. If the hunter tightened his grip he could easily cut off the oxygen from the borrowed brain.

That is exactly the point. Dean could do him no more harm than if he attempted to strangle a marble statue. Yet, the excitement, the arousal their position provides cruise and sweeten both of their blood. It’s something no battlefield could ever grant. The touch, the heat, the way Dean feels frustrated, and helpless with newly found passion, his heavy panting breaths, the way his hipbone is sleek in the arc of Michael’s palm—

The heat between their bodies, the tension in the air that the wind couldn’t blow away weighs down at the back of their tongues with the intoxicating scent of arousal, and there is just no way the thrill wouldn’t strike them.

Dean leans back in, desperate to lick the surface of the white sun burning down Michael’s throat.

 

~*~

 

Dreams are pretty awful if not painfully random, and Sam really, really wants to finally leave them behind. Especially now that he is just about to accept that the life he is living is real and not just some wild imagination, nightly day-dreaming his mind taunts him with. Anyway whenever the occasion arises that his dream might be nice he latches at it and he is determined to live it to the fullest.

Because this must be a dream. What else could it be? He hasn’t drunk more than one beer, and that was last week so why else would his walk be more wobbling than actual steps?

When he finds Nick in the kitchen all doubt evaporates.

Not because the realization that he might have developed a miserably hopeless crush on the man isn’t like a sack of bricks to the chest. Because it really is. Sam doesn’t fall back on his butt only because he wasn’t entirely new to the feeling. It’s more like his traitorous brain recreating an even more absurd picture of the great sensation of being covered in heaps of old books.

So it is not the inhumanly good Nick looks in the pale morning light dancing in his messed up hair like a gently blazing halo around his head.

Actually the absurdity what makes Sam 1000% sure that he is dreaming lies in the half-eaten toast on the counter. It’s just, totally _crazy_ , okay?

With the grace of a dream-drunk Sam pushes himself off the doorframe that had kept him upright so far and walks into the small kitchen. With the same clumsy touch, that he would feel so mortified about later when he wakes, Sam taps Nick’s shoulder then grabs the lapels of his shirt, and, lacking all finesse, presses his mouth to the other’s.

Sam mewls softly at the back of his throat. Nick tastes _amazing_. There underlies the crumbs of the toast but it is all overlapped by the bright flavour of morning, the crisp, bright kind from winter cold, a pinch of electricity, and a flood of surprise—

_Oh fuck, he is awake!_

Nick is staring back at him with lightning dancing in his bright eyes, with that adorable headtilt Sam really wants to knock over to the other side with a spade in hope of wiping the memory of this awkward kiss—

_Oh fuckity fuck!_

“Sam?” Nick calls out for him. “Sam?”

But Sam already turned tails before Nick could take a hold of his elbow. At the second call, though, he hits his hip in the corner of the fridge, and damn it hurts, so _he is fucking awake!_ but Nick doesn’t have a chance to take a step, Sam has already dashed up the stairs and locked himself up in his room.

\---

Nick gave Sam about half an hour for freaking out before he comes knocking at the teen’s door.

“Sam, I think you’d agree that we need to talk,” Nick says. Sam’s hand freezes, T-shirt hanging half-folded over his duffel. “Also much better if I didn’t have to shout through your door.”

It is purely rhetoric Sam knows. He has only heard once Nick raising his voice, and then he was trembling like he was ready to shake apart at the seams he grew so angry with some _human scum_ , but he really doesn’t need that. It’s as if the air is always thrilled to carry his voice on its back.

Yet, Sam still pulls the chair out from under the doorknob and unlocks it. He has to face the man sooner or later anyway.

Nick steps in, hands hanging by his side, chest unprotected and open, features carefully unreadable but unthreatening. He looks around.

“The calendar downstairs only shows July,” he notes, glance resting on Sam’s half-packed belongings.

Sam clenches his teeth, his stomach feels like on a roller coaster, but he stubbornly resumes his packing.

“We need to talk, Sam.” Nick says, carefully wading into the small room.

“’m listening.”

“I don’t want to hold a speech. I’d like to _talk_. With you.”

Why, oh _why_ , does the man have to have such a soothing, gentle voice? Sam wills the betraying tears that started to well out of nowhere, takes a deep, steadying breath before he turns back to Nick.

“Okay,” he says stiffly. “Let’s talk.”

Nick presents him with a soft smile, only a shadow in his eyes and a small up-curl of the edge of his lips, then lays a light palm just above Sam’s elbow and waves at the bed, as if it was his domain. Well, it technically is. It is enough, though, that Sam forgets to protest. Maybe more like because of the lump jumping into his throat. _This isn’t the way you treat someone you feel disgusted about, right?_

 

~*~

 

Even lying awake, staring at the dance of shadows and pale yellow light on the ceiling, with Dean’s occasional squirms and grunts from the other bed Sam could recall with eerily vivid accuracy the little talk they had with Nick all those years ago. So serious, so thorough, not too much unlike all the lectures he had received from John Winchester about how to handle his weapons – yet, the voice purring at the back of his skull was so gentle, low, as if the first stronger breeze could blow it away.

No matter what, Sam couldn’t get the feeling out of his system how the deep concern looked so familiar, painfully so, and maybe definitely not why his past self was obviously having a huge ass crush on Lucifer’s vessel. Which was all kinds of awkward. And also impossible.

Because while the words of _we’re both mourning loss_ , and _you might have developed some kind of Stockholm Syndrome_ , which finally cracked Sam up, there was the other side of the coin of the very same summer.

A summer spent simmering in sour anger, suffering from abandonment and long sleepless nights when he fought tears and bitter bile until he finally forced himself to sort his feelings out, make up a cover, a defending mechanism and a whole new identity who could finally leave his fucked up family behind.

It originally didn’t contain him sitting knee-to-knee with Nick, with the certainty that no matter how many problems Nick listed in their possible- _something_ Sam wanted _this_ , only, if only, then he blurted “ _What about your ring?_ ”

He remembered the confusion flashing over Nick’s brow as he looked down at his hand, mouth already opening as if to ask _what about it?_ and Sam also remembered his own hand clenching into a fist in familiar anger at being lead on before Nick slipped the golden band from his finger.

“ _As I said, we both have something to mourn,”_ he said. “ _It served to deter horny teenagers from hitting on me so far.”_ Then his features grew serious. “ _I’m not an adulterer, Sam. I’m just a man who loves you. That’s all._ ” Nick stood. “ _I have to go. A harpy clearly can’t read a closed sign.”_

Sam remembered the all consuming hunger that seized him short after he heard Nick's steps descending the stairs. Dangerous and ferocious, a fever reaching its peak but instead of clouding his mind his thoughts remained crystal clear. Bright and brisk, so that even years later they felt razor sharp. The confidence that he _wanted_ this thing whatever the two of them could have. He needed it like he needed to get away from Dad and Dean. But it was his own decision. His own free will. The fate of his summer and his life finally in his own hands, and he _wanted_ this!

He jumped to his feet but only found the door for the second try and he nearly fell down the stairs, but soon he was standing in front of the main desk, his heart racing in his throat, palms sweating, but mind so damn clear it was almost painful!

Nick looked up at the tall shadow falling over his form. Their gazes locked. Sam could count the grains of dust pumped into the air to the rhythm of his heartbeat. His cheeks grew hot. Breathing felt impossible and the feeling wasn't so far from being sick, but he still reached out, for the second time that day, and pulled Nick into another kiss. This one longer. Sober. Clear. Determined and maybe with a tinge of fear. He was only afraid if he tried to deepen the kiss his heart would straight out jump into Nick's throat.

This time Nick kissed back. With no hesitation. He tasted just as pure, and just as dark as the winter night sky.

Sam would be totally fine if he was kissed like this for whole eternity.

Sam remembered the kisses they shared the following month.

The short pecks on the lips stolen over the counter when the shop was empty. How, once, a boy skittered out still from the doorway with disgust written all over his face when Sam refused to break away from Nick’s lips when he finally managed to lick his way into the man’s mouth, and they were caught.

Nick’s arm around his waist when one evening Sam stayed in, since they were no longer hunting for apartments with Brady for the school year, and thus decided to cook dinner for the both of them. How he had complained that Nick was always in his way whenever he wanted to grab something from the fridge or the cupboard.

He also remembered the first shy but then progressively heating up make out sessions stretching into the early hours of the morning. The cool sensation of Nick’s mouth leaving butterfly kisses and teasing nips along his jaw and neck, _worshipping_ Sam. The tiny flashes of thunderbolts crackling on his fingertips when Sam carded his fingers through the blond spikes; the heat flushing his body, the insatiable desire to  get closer, closer until they could melt into one—The frustration when Nick’s big hands clamped down on each side of Sam’s hips, stilling their grinding rolls. Their first fight that cracked short after when Sam tried to peel the shirt off Nick, and his fingers brushed a raw patch of skin, sore and scarred, but only a glimpse before the man slapped his hand away, tugging the fabric back to cover up himself.

The next day Sam tried to amend matters, because Nick looked so _sad_ , so _hurt_ at Sam’s taunting. The familiarity of that expression with Lucifer’s unique endless sadness had goose bumps break out every inch of his skin.

“ _We should go out tonight,_ ” Sam said marching up to the corner where Nick was hiding away in the shadows. Straightforward – because Sam Winchester wanted something, and the new era just began when he had a good damn chance of getting it.

“ _I think I’ll pass_ ,” Nick glanced up shortly, then frowned back at his book on Darwinism. “ _As you pointed out last night I’m and_ old man _._ ”

“ _But not that old to always sit inside. As if you were locked up._ ” Had Sam’s remark cut so deep? He was a horny teenager (Nick was right pointing this out to him, but _horny_ and _teenager_ ) who still hadn’t mastered the ability of keeping his sharp tongue in his mouth.

The scowl deepened. “ _I don’t mingle well with the… savages your age._ ”

Sam smiled. “ _Not my friends, just you and me. Come on, Nick, it’s Friday night. I’m taking you out on a date._ ”

Technically Nick was paying, but Sam had to take care of them going out first, so what?

And the endless talks. Their memory still brought a happy smile to Sam’s face. Nick had been hanging on his words, just like the first day they met. He didn’t pry for Sam’s past, the boy didn’t have to make up lies to hide where he came from and where his family was like with the rest of friends he had gathered during the summer. Nick listened, interested, _invested_ in what Sam wanted to share.

The uncountable times Nick had told Sam how much he loved him.

It felt so natural…

 

The lazy ebb and flow of peaceful memories slowly rocked Sam back to a light slumber.

 ~*~

The rain softly whispers outside. Sometimes, when the wind picks up for some playful blows the raindrops thrum on the window, but not long enough to provide a constant, soothing hum that would help Sam fall asleep. It is nothing really, compared to all the monsters he still knows are on the rampage outside; but still, he doesn’t manage to fall asleep. Something is simply not okay.

As per usual, he goes to find Nick. As per usual, the man is up, reading in his room.

“Don’t you ever sleep?” Sam asks.

Nick doesn’t even close his book, but as he looks up, softly illuminated by the lamp on his nightstand and the pale silver filtering through the rain flowing down in waves from the window all his attention belongs to Sam, and maybe he falls a little bit deeper in love with the man as well.

“Why waste away my time on this beautiful planet?”

“You don’t even see much of it. You never get out.”

“You drag me out occasionally.” Sam only scoffs. “I rather read. Some people are outrageously good with words. Playing god.”

“Not all writers have a god-complex,” Sam counters before crawling onto the bed at Nick’s beckoning.

“You create worlds, and you decide what kind of god you want to play as. Be the vicious, vengeful, omnipotent being who toys with their characters, forms worlds and sets floods on the nations, or rather be compassionate and let it all unfold in a foretold happy ending.” Nick answers offhandedly scooting over to make room for Sam.

“How about those poets ranting about all the pain in the world?” The younger asks with a yawn.

“They are just obnoxious idiots with an occasional talent at painting pictures.” Nick drawls. His fingers sink into Sam’s hair. Immediately the world outside cedes to exist and Sam is already half-asleep.

“Just admit you hate any kind of art,” he mumbles.

“Why would I?”

Sam simply doesn’t find it in himself to argue more. He only snuggles into his place curled at Nick’s side, to wake up half-draped over man’s thighs, hugging his waist, while he either dozes still sitting upright or reading as if time had no power over him.

He has never felt safer.

~*~

Dean was still restless when Sam finally blinked himself awake. But he had currently bigger problems than worrying about his stupid brother who had probably knocked back all of his painkillers yesterday and they wore off during the night.

He felt dizzy, an uneasy feeling curling in his guts, so close to fear and the pain of losing someone very important. Tears welled up in his eyes.

“ _Where are you going now?_ ”

“ _I don’t know yet._ ”

“ _Why don’t you come with me, then? It—I could talk to Brady, I’m sure he could easily find another roommate—“_

_“No, Sam. Remember our deal?”_

_He was so ready to offer to stay with Nick, helping him with the shop, or going with him wherever he chose to restart his mysterious life._

_“You go to school, Sam. No one is worth giving your dreams up for.”_

_“I… Do you think we could meet again?”_

Nick’s smile looked eternally sad and lonely when he answered “ _Certainly_.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and coments are always appreciated! I can't believe already how many I've got! ^^
> 
> Forewarning: I'm suffering from major Sam and as in that Samifer feels, so that's that.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Was there any chance Sam’d met Lucifer’s vessel before?
> 
> Had the two of them, two possible vessels been tied up already before the whole Apocalypse began?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone who's here for the Michael/Dean line of the story: this one is clean and clear Sam/Lucifer.
> 
> Does still anyone remember what's happened in the previous chapters tho? Oh dear, I'm so embarrassed that it took me more than half a year to update. I'm so grateful for anyone and everyone who still takes up the risk and dedicates the time to continue reading my story, AND I'M SO GRATEFUL FOR ALL THE SWEET COMMENTS WHO URGED ME NOT TO DROP THIS! Those mean so much for me guys, especially as I'm complicating my life with the new storyline way too much. But I hope you'll find it enjoyable when I finally figure it out!
> 
> I hope I won't disappoint much!
> 
> (Title is from Within Temptation - Dream of a Stairway to the Sky song's lyrics if I remember right.)

**Dream of a stairway to the Skies**

**Chapter 14**

_**My angel is coming (down from Heaven to take me)** _

 

At least for another hour Sam tossed about in bed, but as soon as the first rays of the sun painted the morning grey he threw the thin blankets off himself. Hurriedly he got dressed and dug up his training shoes from the bottom of his bag. He needed to work out, to go jogging or something just to occupy half of his brain before he overthought everything. There were already pictures slipping into his memories that certainly were nothing more than feverish dreams. Even though he couldn’t even trust himself anymore - What was a real memory and what- what wasn’t?

But everything sounded way too much like a real memory. Damn it!

In the wake of the door’s closing the note he had scribbled for Dean had fluttered to the ground even though he somehow refrained from slamming it behind himself in frustration.

Was there any chance he’d met Lucifer’s vessel before?

Had the two of them, two possible vessels been tied up already before the whole Apocalypse began?

Why, it didn’t seem too paranoid to at least take it into consideration. It could have insinuated trust in Sam if Lucifer wore a man he once, years and years ago, had had a crush on. On top of all, Heaven and Hell had been up to securing their plans long before either he or Dean was born…

Still. The memories wouldn’t merge perfectly. The cracks just didn’t fit when he tried to push them back together.

Annoyed, and horrified by the prospects of what he was planning to do – again – Sam ran back to the motel. In the furthest corner, an eerily empty wing of the L-shaped building Sam slipped into a room and locked the door. For a moment he leaned his back against the hardwood, just breathing, trying to convince his burning lungs that he wasn’t trapped, that this was all part of a plan that would work…

A drop of sweat trickled down his neck then disappeared under his collar.

Okay. Okay. He told himself. Now it’s all about finding answers.

However, any time he was about to put his question in prayer he was always stuck on the address. Soon all his mind echoed (screamed) back at him was Lucifer, Lucifer, Lucifer—

At the soft crack of ozone and the shimmering sound of feathers brushing against each other, Sam’s heart jumped into his throat. He pried his eyes open.

“Lucifer,” he said, voice breathless with the air growing strangling between them. Even the blue eyes crackled like distant lightningbolts before a storm.

“Sam,” Lucifer inclined his head tightly, in a painfully royal manner.

“You- You look really… awful.”

Lucifer made a face, the wince dragged out, but probably more for the blisters pulling at his skin. “You’ve never had a vain girlfriend have you?” he gave it back dryly. With great discipline he rearranged his features, eyes piercing even surrounded by the dark purple circles.

“Why, all of a sudden? Going through demon blood detox?” It just slipped out of Sam’s mouth. He really didn’t plan on taunting Lucifer like this, it just… it just slipped.

“Yes, well… Demons had grown a bit reluctant to answer my call. Crowley has done a great job weeding out my fanatics from the ranks of Hell.” He shrugged, way too far from his usual grace and ease. “How can I assist you, Sam? And may I remind you that I’m not some mutt on a leash like Castiel is to your brother.”

Sam mentally braced himself, took a deep breath and, followed by Lucifer’s unfathomable gaze, blew it out.

“I want to know more about your vessel,” Sam said decidedly.

“Nick, you mean?”

“Yeah,” Sam felt his heart deliver a hammer-like blow against his ribcage, “I mean, what was he like? Before you… Is he still alive inside?”

At the suddenly erupting thought another bead of sweat made its track down the line of his spine. It was chilly.

“No.” Lucifer answered slowly. “I burnt out the last memory of his existence even from the last cell of this body as soon as you said ‘yes’ to me.”

“That’s just – cruel.”

“We could argue about this until the world ends,” Lucifer shrugged one shoulder and shoved his hands in his pockets. “I needed his consent, it’s not my fault he was a faulty vessel. I treated you well, didn’t I?”

Sam narrowed his eyes. “So you want me to assume Nick didn’t suffer through all what you did?”

“Honestly? I don’t know. Nor do I care.”

“You just ignore everyone except for me, or what?! He was a nice man!”

Something sharp flashed in Lucifer’s eyes, but before Sam could launch at it and try to decipher its meaning it was gone.

“Nice.” Lucifer repeated slowly. Sam saw his features close up. Soon he looked and sounded distant and regal. “He was a nice man, I suppose. Happy, with his family… until they were no more. A pity burglar broke in the house, killed the baby and his wife. So, after all, taking me in, giving up the life he desired to live no more was like redemption for him.”

The memory of the dull glimpse of gold in the shady light made Sam’s chest constrict. His throat felt blocked.

We both have something to mourn.

The years, though… The years between the time Sam had met Nick, and Lucifer took possession of his body just didn’t match.

“… It still doesn’t make it fair.”

Lucifer’s stunning gaze flashed at him.

“Fair?” he asked sharply. “Did it bother you this much when I served you justice? Don’t tell me killing those demons that had surrounded you even when you wanted to run away from all this nightmare didn’t feel good!”

“It didn’t! That’s murder all the same. You, you of all things should have the power to kill a demon without the host! You just simply don’t care enough for humans because, because we are so below you? I swear you archangels are the worst, most obnoxious bastards running around this planet.

“Self-righteousness—it isn’t how things work! It’s like the Old Testament’s eye-for-eye – It – it’s so outdated today. It’s not an era of self-righteousness, Lucifer. We have courts, we have jails—“

“So you take sides with murderers?”

“Of course not!”

Lucifer scoffed, disdain and a tint of disappointment on his features.

“Saving people. Hunting things. The family business, right, Sam?”

Sam set his jaw – he didn’t realize when the smooth surface of the door had separated from his clammy back, but now he was standing straight facing Lucifer in a fight for understanding.

“All lives matter.”

“Did Brady’s life matter?”

The reminder – what an awful reminder! – that Sam didn’t even feel remorse for that one was worse than any tremor of earthquake that could shook an entire continent.

“Don’t worry, Sam. If you’d let him go I’d have left no stone unturned to find that little roach. For you I would have put him through the worst of pains that he’d wish he’d never crawled out of Hell. It was so hard. So hard to let him sidle around you…”

“How would you know that?” Sam asked, suddenly all distracting noises clearing in his head.

He took one step forward. Lucifer took one back.

“You – you should not take sides with murderers Sam!” The sharp ringing sound in the air was steadily growing stronger and stronger but it kept outside of Sam’s skull.

“Answer me!” he demanded.

“You, who kill without a second thought because some people were killed, mutilated, a tiny bit tortured. You kill without a second thought because the killers are monsters!”

“They are.”

“Humans! Humans are the real monsters! You destroy my Father’s creation. You preach of human rights and your cruelty puts some demons to shame. You. You are the real monsters! Humanity has no right to live any more than demons do—“

“I am human too.” Sam heard the words slipping from his lips leaving a cold aftertaste lingering on his tongue. “Just a reminder.”

As if the words have slapped him hard in the face Lucifer turned around abruptly and before Sam noticed him moving he was right in front of him. His eyes held onto Sam as if he was the Devil’s only anchor to this world.

“You, Sam – You.” Lucifer panted in his face with a manic light breaking through the cold blue of his gaze, “You are the only exception – the one who makes this rotten world Heaven for me. You are so bright.” With one hand Lucifer took hold of Sam’s chin keeping their eyes locked, “Full of light, fighting the darkness all around. Like a beacon for the ships in the thick night fog out on the ocean. Love and loyalty and smart – Sam – You, you are the one – Of course you defend these worthless race. And you are the one who makes me listen –

“Just one word, only one, and I’ll lay everyone’s head in front of you. You are the reason I don’t care – You make me Lucifer again – but don’t condemn me. You know revenge and how good it tastes. Don’t condemn me now...”

 

— Sam had had the very same argument before—

 

“Why should murderers be fed and kept alive?” They argued once. “In fact, in better conditions than so many others?”

“Well, if you’re the one for Biblical reasoning,” Sam countered, “Even Cain got to get away with murder.”

At that a haunting smile crept onto Nick’s face that was gone in a second but now Sam recognized it as one of Lucifer’s smiles.

“Only for near the entire human race to be wiped off the surface of the Earth a few centuries later.”

“Eye for an eye is outdated.”

“Isn’t the whole point of serving justice that the victim, if they are lucky enough to be alive, can feel the satisfaction of revenge?”

The eyes staring into his very soul were only a shade less crazy than they were now. It made Sam’s throat run dry and his stomach to tighten into an excited knot.

“Why make the sweet cup bitter over such nonexistent thing as humanity?”

“…This is madness.”

“The right to revenge! It should be the only condolence in this cruel, wicked world. Don’t condemn me until you know how sweet it tastes.”

Sam’s throat worked around words that remained stuck on his dry tongue. It took him a while to work up enough spit to swallow down his madly racing heart, but then he gathered Lucifer’s ice cold hands in his and met the blazing eyes with serene sincerity.

He licked his chapped lips and said, “I know... I know what revenge tastes like. I know how, how it tastes sweet like that Apple you offered. I know, because you put me there.” Sam swallowed hard under the weight of Lucifer's gaze. He was hanging on each word falling from the hunter's lips. “I understand, Lucifer.” He paused for a second, praying quietly for the cocksure confidence that enabled him to taunt Death on multiple occasions. Eventually he declared square in the Devil’s face, “But I don't agree with it.”

Lucifer stared back at him. The first glint of hope that lit up his whole expression and seemed to have eased off the pull of his skin slowly turned into a painful pinch of confusion, before cold, disappointment laced realization dawned on him. Although when he tried to pull away Sam tightened his hold on him. Fighting the eerie feeling of skin and bones shifting under his fingers, he enveloped Lucifer’s hands in his bigger ones.

The words wouldn’t form again, but he had to communicate somehow that he knew. This was just as important that he disagreed. He understood. He knew.

Sam knew what revenge felt like.

He knew the thirst, how his insides would run dry. All emotions he had once held dear fading and paling, running through his fingers like sand in the desert under the scorching sun. He knew how everything seemed unsure, wavery and fleeting in the moments the storm of need for revenge picked up. A smile was immediately consumed in the heat of his anger, any sadness over a lost victim was no more but fuel to his hatred and disgust.

And then there was the guilt and remorse, trailing behind all this, like a dark mongrel, with red tongue hanging out from its rotten mouth that curled to a wicked grin; something that you couldn’t chase off because death it did not fear, and it could always snatch some snug from your soul.

It was all consuming, and there was no forgiving in that. Not the blood on your hands, not the once firm as rock belief that it would bring relief. You became a monster yourself and there was no redemption in the world to change that.

Sam knew it. And he knew now why Lucifer was clinging to him – to a mere mortal, the boy with the demon blood, the fallen Boy King, the man who failed and was now broken, depending on a fractured wall in his mind – and still. He was the one to give Lucifer a new chance - just as Dean constantly demanded of Sam not to give up, and always keep fighting, even against his own self.

Now Sam was to play this role. Not only for his brother, or the victims of a nightmare they had encountered, but also Satan, King of the material world. He was to assure him of a new beginning where he could forget and become himself again. A place where both of them begged for forgiveness, and also someone to understand. Sam was the only one who could give the Devil the chance to become an angel again.

A damaged and fallen angel. The most beautiful of all.

“Revenge solves barely anything,” Sam pleaded. He held Lucifer’s  hands and gaze, desperate to catch one last glimpse of the morning light reflecting in the blue ice. “And it is not the only thing you have.”

Lucifer tilted his head. New sores opened on the side of his throat where the skin pulled thin over the tendons.

“Nah,” he drawled with a contemptuous pinch to his nose. “It’s kept me alive just fine.”

“It’ll get you killed too!”

“You’ve saved me once.”

“Not intentionally,” Sam mumbled.

He had to drop his gaze then, and also let go of Lucifer’s hands. He couldn’t handle the cold anymore. It brought up bad memories. Terrible memories of fire that burnt for its complete lack of heat, and froze because it had already scorched his nerve endings, stardust-blood covered hands around his throat and crushing his ribcage...

With great difficulty he swallowed it all back. He felt sick, lightheaded, and if he didn’t catch onto something real quick he might as well faint at Lucifer’s feet.

Luckily there was something that caught his attention. The lack of gold. The questions he originally came for.

“When did you take off your ring?” his tone was breathless, strained, but even like that something akin to alert flashed across Lucifer’s face.

“What ring?” he gave it back, but couldn’t mask up the wary edge from his voice.

“Nick’s ring.” Sam swallowed hard, pressed a palm to the top of his breast where he could still feel the heavy, slimy lump in his throat.

“Why should I care? It’s not mine.”

“You’d been wearing it all this while with no problem.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Lucifer almost snapped.

But despite the fear bubbling already at the back of the cavern of his mouth Sam latched at it all the more determined.

“I want to know!”

“I said it doesn’t matter!”

A shrill scream rendered everything mute around them.

Sam rather saw than heard the sky come crashing down around them. Through the window lightning painted Lucifer’s hair white, his eyes gleamed blinding bright in the deep shadows under his scarred brows. Outside crystal chunks of heaven’s belly rattled on the rooftops and the windowsill.

Sam’s nose had gone numb, his ears were still ringing.

“It was you,” he mouthed for all he knew. “It was you, back when I ran away. For Stanford. It’s—it’s always you. Always. It wasn’t. It wasn’t…”

“It wasn’t Nick,” Lucifer finished softly.

_All those times you ran away you weren’t running from them. You were running to me._

Lucifer sighed, and took the last steps until he could lean back against the window ledge. He looked tired and sad.

Finally, Sam allowed himself to stagger back and fall against the door.

Outside a hailstorm raged. Cars’ alarms went off wailing all around the motel’s parking lot.

“But…why, how?”

“Well, I meant it when I said I wanted to give you a gift. A gift of everything.”

“If I said ‘yes’. So what? Did you hope I’d agree easier if I had had a crush on your vessel, back when I was so vulnerable?!”

“No, Sam. No…”

“And how about your promise? Huh?! You said you’d never lie to me. That you’d never trick me!”

“Come on, Sam, you haven’t thought this through.” Lucifer chided. His patronizing tone made Sam’s eyes water from frustration.

“You gave your word! You promised you’d never trick me! Gosh, I even told Dean that you were the only one I could trust!”

Lucifer only looked back at him – his gaze impossible to read.

“Say something damnit!” Sam snapped.

Lucifer closed his eyes. He leaned back against the window rattling in its frame. Slowly ice flowers started to bloom from his shoulders so that they soon obscured the stormy sky and the pieces of ice falling from above.

“I hoped to grant you some shelter, right when, as you just said, you were the most ‘vulnerable’,” Lucifer spoke softly. “I didn’t lie to you about anything I’ve said or done. It was all me.”

“You should have just told me! It took me this long to figure out!”

Lucifer scoffed. “However smart, you were a teenager Sam, who was desperate to tear apart the world just so that you’d be away from the job. If I told you I was Lucifer,” a strange smile pulled at his pale lips, “would you have considered to trust me?”

Sam opened his mouth to answer, but no sound came from his throat. The back of his head was numb now as well.

Lucifer’s smile settled as his usual eternally sad, but hard smile.

“Right,” he drawled gently. “You would have run far, far away from me. Then what kind of change could I have hoped to bring to your life?”

Sam rubbed at the bridge of his nose. His eyelids felt heavy.

“But still. Why would you do that? It was nice, I agree. I mean – I, I still don’t know what to think of all this chaos in my head…”

“It’ll resettle. The new memories will meld in the place of the old ones if that is how you decide.”

“And if I don’t want my past messed with?”

Lucifer looked back at him seriously. “Then I’ll erase it. I picked a period in your timeline that would grant both me and you such a chance.”

Sam frowned. “What else did you want to mess with?”

“I’ve considered a few things,” Lucifer shrugged almost imperceptibly. “In one feverish moment I pondered about stopping Azazel from poisoning you but… in my current position battling Fate and her sisters would have been a bit too much for me.”

“You’ve thought about this…” The world started spinning. This was… this was too much. Did Lucifer seriously consider such paradox – and definitely not for his own gain?

“Why are you so surprised? I’m good at spending centuries with making suicidal plans.”

Sam wanted to snort at that, because yeah, he could imagine Lucifer simmering in his Cage drawing up plans for the destruction of a world and a race that he could barely have any idea what direction they evolved into, while it all turned a-changing above him— But then his heart jolted in his chest, throwing itself against his ribs, and Sam doubled over in pain.

Instead of the solid, smooth surface of the door, seething bars pressed into his back, burning its mark under his shoulder blade. War drums thundered in his ears. Blood dribbled from his nose and smeared on his upper lip.

He found himself shivering on the floor.

Lucifer was looming over him. His hands were stretched out, but remained trembling at a respectful distance from touching Sam. As if he needed some kind of permission.

Maybe it was that old worry and helplessness from that time when Lucifer confessed how he wanted to care about Sam. Maybe he just imagined it to be there this time. All the same, however, without much thought Sam grasped willingly for the other’s cold forearms.

Both of them moaned at the contact – both of them in pain.

Sam jerked his hands back. Cold, tempered blood covered his fingertips where his blunt nails broke through Nick’s skin.

He felt so sick.

He held his hands out away from himself, while whimpering softly “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Although he wasn’t sure whose forgiveness he was asking for.

Lucifer, on the other hand, recovered quicker from the assault of pain. Permission granted, however he counted it, he took hold of Sam’s hands, and carefully set to wipe off the blood from his fingers with the wing of his shirt.

“It’s okay. It’s okay, Sam,” Lucifer crooned. “Here. No blood on your hands, you innocent lamb, hush. It’s okay. I barely felt a thing.”

Sam watched him work. But the blood wasn’t going anywhere.

_“You’re just losing your mind. It’s no big deal. It’s okay, Sam, I’ve been there too. It’s a lovely disease once it killed you…”_

“I didn’t—I didn’t want to hurt you,” Sam whimpered. Tears made his eyes burn. He was losing it, he knew he was losing it – but he had to keep it together, swallow the lump down and just keep it together one more day.

“Don’t worry, Sam. It’s less than a mosquito bite. I’m used to far worse.”

“I didn’t want to cause any pain to you.”

“That’s what you all say,” Lucifer remarked sardonically.

“But I’m not Michael!”

A smile that didn’t quite reach the Devil’s eyes made him look sad and distant – so much that in fear of him flying away Sam grabbed hold of his T-shirt.

Lucifer looked down at the whitened knuckles, then back at the even paler face.

“Of course, you aren’t,” he said.

No! No, he didn’t understand, Sam screamed internally – and for a second wondered if his agonized frustration managed to vibrate through his vocal chords too. He bit his lip in concentration, and also to bar any further howl that grew in his lungs from escaping, and pulled his hands free. Even his eyes watered to the point where teardrops spilled at their corner, but he didn’t care. Now he knew why, in his morphed past Lucifer slapped his wandering hands away whenever they were about to start mapping his torso under the several layers of clothing. His vessel was already wearing thin, and he couldn’t stand the sores marring his flesh.

Sam wanted to help Lucifer get rid of that pain so bad.

Under the confused and suspicious blue gaze Sam’s hands started wandering over all skin he could find – but always keeping one breath of distance between the scars and his clammy palms.

“I wish I could help,” he breathed.

“It’s fine.”

“Is it… does it have to do with you- with you time travelling?”

“Nick is still an unstable vessel at best. But it had been worse during my first ride.”

“Would it hurt if I touched you?”

Lucifer rolled his eyes in exasperation.

“I’ve had much worse than a little sting—“

“Would it hurt?” Sam demanded stubbornly.

At that Lucifer sighed softly. When he glanced at Sam affection warmed his gaze.

“Yes, it would. But… would it hurt you if I touched you?”

“No…?”

Lucifer leaned in carefully slow. The tip o their noses almost (almost!) touched.

“Then may I?”

“Yes…!”

 

They lay on their sides facing each other on the single bed that creaked every time either of them moved. It was mostly Sam shifting about, because Lucifer tried to keep the bedspread scratching at his sensitive skin to the minimum. Somehow they still managed to fit.

Just like that, breathing the same air, both of their madness momentarily forgotten – or more likely ignored – this was their safe cocoon. Sam smiled to himself as he could still feel his lips tingle with the memory of Lucifer’s light kisses.

As far as he could tell there were no new sores gaping on the other’s form. The easy contentment that caused silenced the cracking of the wall inside his head.

Even the Devil seemed pleased.

If Sam managed to gaze unblinking long enough he could see the glow taking the wobbly shape of a halo around his head.

“Lucifer,” Sam whispered softly, as if afraid he would scare the archangel away. Lucifer glanced up. “Why are you here?”

Lucifer immediately averted his eyes. Now they rested on the pale yellow mark he had left days ago on Sam’s shoulder.

“I’m not ready to tell you. Not now. Nor like this.” He answered equally softly. The rain outside almost drowned out his voice.

Sam counted the peeling scars on the other’s temple and cheekbones while his throat worked around his next words. But eventually all he said was, “Okay.”

The word seemed to have cracked over Lucifer’s back like a whip. As he went rigid, the breath hitching in his throat even Sam flinched. He wondered if he said something wrong, if he just unknowingly, and lead by the best of intentions, if he just started again something terrible. He lay on his side helpless and with bubbling fright as Lucifer wriggled out from underneath his heavy palm and slipped off the bed.

Lucifer was on his knees, elbows atop the old bedsheets. His eyes gleamed wide.

Sam only stared at him in growing confusion.

With one last clap the hailstorm outside stilled. The last drops of ice fell on the ground, but as if the tube they came from was suddenly clogged there came no more. In the silence that followed Lucifer gathered Sam’s hand that slipped from his side in his palms, and in a fashion of unworldly adoration he pressed his lips to the hunter’s shaking knuckles.

Just as Sam was still searching for words so that he could somehow decipher what just happened, Lucifer looked him back in the eye. On the ice his usual confidence and arrogance flashed.

There was no need to word this question of amazement, because the second he could have asked it had already passed. It made Sam so relieved.

“I wouldn’t regret this, will I?” he croaked.

Lucifer smirked. Not with his usual cunning, calculating edge, but it was all right. “Why would you regret having the Devil on your side?”

  



	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I am a bolt of lightning. I am wild, and dangerous, and unpredictable. I am admired for beauty. But I am feared for the nature I possess. Who could ever love such a thing?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promised a Michean chapter. Here, it finally arrived!
> 
> The quote I used instead of a title is from tumblr, and I really, really love it, and when I was writing the second half of this chapter it felt fitting. Maybe not for the entire chapter, and I prefer pulling such parallels for Lucifer, but I have hope you won't stone me over this :D I inserted the link as well.
> 
> I hope from the bottom of my heart that you will enjoy it! :)

**Dream of a stairway to the Skies**

**Chapter 15**

_I am a bolt of lightning. I am wild, and dangerous, and unpredictable. I am admired for beauty. But I am feared for the nature I possess. Who could ever love such a thing?_

([x](http://omaano.tumblr.com/post/96031799988/i-am-a-bolt-of-lightning-i-am-wild-and))

 

The bar is old and creaky, in a familiar, post-Apocalyptic kind of way. There is dust pouring through the cracks from the ceiling whenever something shifts upstairs, half of the lights hurt the eyes with their naked light bulbs, and you can see exactly which chairs are used and which corner tables are frequented for their surfaces are shiny with all the jacket sleeves having polished them clean. On the other hand the walls are painted with grime, spit and spilled blood. Over the pool tables one could even risk to recognize brain and other haw chunks.

It isn’t a really dependable sight.

The icing on the cake is how, if Dean turns his head right he can catch the lingering scent of roses and ozone; but if he turns it left he smells tar that drowns out everything else nasty. Both make his insides churn cold.

So he rather buries his nose in the line of whisky glasses, and tries to recall how alcohol slides down his throat in honey-covered crushed crystal drops, and how it pools warm in his belly.

Opposite of him, on the other side of the counter Michael is leaning on his elbows, lazily rolling a cyan coloured bottle around in his palms.

“What is this place?” Michael asks. His voice sounds as if coming from under water.

“I dunno…” Dean shrugs one shoulder. “Why?”

For a beat of silence the archangel doesn’t say anything else, but then he murmurs uncharacteristically softly, “This place resonates with my grace.”

“Uh-huh. And is that good or bad?”

“It isn’t in a manner of either good or bad. It simply does.”

“How helpful,” Dean grumbles.

He throws back the whisky he has been nursing for a while now. The burn isn’t the same as if he was awake, but it’s getting closer. Some ice would be nice.

In spite of himself he traces the line of the thigh holster under the bartop. He shudders when his fingertip slips on the hammer.

“But…” at his voice Michael glances up. He looks at the hunter from under dark lashes. Dean swallows. “It brings, ugh, 2014 to mind. Does that say anything to you?”

“2014?” Michael repeats. He looks surprised - but acknowledging this creeping feeling ( _terrible, horrible feeling_ ) left a too sour of an aftertaste in Dean’s mouth to revel in the new expression on the angel’s face.

“Yeah. Ugh, Zachariah was kind enough to zap me into this future,” Dean tries his best to keep his tone at least on the slightly bemused side of neutral. “To witness with my own eyes what happens if I fight ‘ _my destiny_ ’. Bullshit.”

As soon as he reaches out to his empty left, there is another glass for his hand to wrap around.  Its crushed surface is cool - or maybe only his fingers lost all the blood running in them. His nails have turned purple. They aren’t shaking, but the amber liquid still sloshes about at the bottom of the glass. He quickly raises it to his curling lips.

“It didn’t work out, I gather.” Michael says.

“Did I say yes to you?” Dean smiles back, dark and sweet and sharp.

Show him the Devil wearing his baby brother, show him the most terrifyingly desperate plan that includes sacrificing Cas, show him how he would have to kill Sammy with his own hands… Dean would only be willing to tear the world apart if it meant saving _his_ entire universe. Nothing else.

The reply he gets is another smile in kind, but that is also accompanied by a flash of teeth. It is lightning to the sea storm of the eyes above.

The cyan bottle rolls another round, sparks swirl in the shelter of Michael’s palms.

“Tell me what it was like.” Michael doesn’t ask. He commands.

Sucking at his whisky, that could be the third, just as much as the sixth, Dean complies. He tells Michael about the _I am Legend_ -like setting and the Croats chasing him down the street. He buries deep the fear and nausea he has only felt before for his green eyes turning black in the mirror, and tells the archangel, briefly, about his future self. He watches the other’s fingers shift along the bottle and tells him about how the angels must have closed up shop and returned to Heaven. After that he looks up at Michael with expectation clear in his eyes. However, Michael only looks back at him, and with the slight rise of his brow signs for Dean to go on. Dean frowns and promptly misses to share Cas’s condition. Then he tells about the suicide mission…

“It’ll never end like that,” Dean concludes, shaking his head and turning his hardened gaze to the bartop. “No matter how close Lucifer’s getting to Sam. It’ll never end with him wearing my brother’s face.”

“But are you fine with it?”

“Fine with _what_?”

“Lucifer courting Sam.”

Dean gives an ugly snort at that. “Fuck, no! Why would I be fine with anything straight out damn evil around Sammy? Whatever he claims, Satan is the worst of everything evil!”

“Not necessarily.”

“Sorry, except for you.”

The corner of Michael’s lips curl into a strange angled smile, but then as he opens his mouth to speak that sinister expression disappears from his face.

“I was lead to believe that right now, until his vessel faces irreparable, irreversible damage, Lucifer is seeking your brother’s companion for far more human reasons.”

“Ugh, man, _ew_!” Dean exclaims and throws back his drink. It burns just on the pleasant side of painful. “You’re driving me to drink.”

Michael frowns. “You’ve been drinking already. Even though you can’t get drunk in a dream.”

“I’ll be damned if I don’t try,” He salutes the angel with already his next full glass of double whisky in hand before he chugs that down as well. “There’s too much Samifer here for my liking. Damn, it’s getting better and better.”

Even though Michael is right, Dean could drink until he woke up, and still wouldn’t feel a tiniest bit tipsy, but it is his dream, _duh_. He could certainly convince his brain to feel a bit mushy, without the threat of alcohol poisoning, and less concerned over something he couldn’t control. Like his moose-sized brother’s dreams.

Yeah. If only it was that easy.

“Hey, don’t you think you should stop your bro from hanging around mine?”

“What would be the point of that? For all I know, Lucifer has been nothing but helpful to you.”

Dean is a single thought away from smashing his glass in the archangel’s face - but luckily that nightmarish thought of Lucifer cornering Sam against a tree, his little brother’s face awashed with terror, well, that thought has been successfully locked deep, deep down. So instead, he just scoffs again.

“Well, I’d sleep easier, for starters. But also…” he chuckles dryly at the thought even before it slips from his tongue. “I don’t wanna be ignored for a devilish boyfriend.”

Michael freezes. The bottle he has been playing with topples from his fingers, its bottom tats against the counter. However, before its body could fall on the hard surface as well, Dean quickly reaches out and the neck leans smooth in his hand. The liquid sloshing about swirls in a mesmerizing colour. It feels like watching a storm being born.

When Dean glances back up, whatever feeling stunned the angel, it is gone.

Instead of pressing the matter he lifts the bottle up to his face.

“What’cha nursing so much?”

Just as he is about to unscrew the cap warm fingers wrap around his own, stilling all motion and sense in his hand down to his elbow.

“This is not meant for humans,” Michael says very seriously. “Or any creature thereof.”

“So it’s some kind of angel-booze, huh?” Dean grins wide. He feels the corner of his eyes wrinkle.

“I didn’t mean it as some kind of challenge,” Michael peels the bottle out of Dean’s hand, clearly affronted. “One drop of this could kill you.”

“But you just said it’s a dream. If I can’t get drunk in my dream,” Dean reasons, “a little taste won’t kill me either.”

“Your surrounding is not real. I however, am as real as I can be without retaining a corporeal body. And since the Fire of Thanatos is similar in nature, it is just as real too.”

“Seriously? That’s what you call it?”

“It’s an old name,” Michael snaps.

“Okay, okay. Chill, King of Drama,” Dean sits back in his chair. “So it’d kill me because I’m an inferior human, and you are a mighty warrior of God or whatever.” Right in front of his eyes Michael’s facial muscles do some spectacular acrobatics, but eventually he settles for a bitter line to his lips and nods. “Then _you_ ’ve got to drink up.”

“Why?!”

Dean cannot help but laugh out loud at the pure bafflement poured into that single compact word.

“Because I must know if you’re a funny drunk or what.”

“I feel compelled to point out that I can hold my liquor just fine.”

“Sure, sure. So come on, champ, here’s a glass and drink up!”

 

 

At first there is only a slight twitch to Michael’s eye as he throws back a gob that could fit into a thimble. It takes quite some convincing and taunting to get him to clink glasses with Dean and swallow for the second time. No matter how Dean squints, nothing seems to change on the archangel. And as that doesn’t change after they said their cheers for the third time, obviously he starts demanding his fair share of taste again.

“No, you don’t understand,” Michael snaps at him and promptly pulls the bottle far from Dean. “One mouthful has everything in it to make an angel inebriated.”

“I want it all the more!” Dean is at this point measuring his chances at climbing over the countertop to wrangle it out of Michael’s hand by sheer force. “You seem just fine. This is just some shitty propaganda to stop your soldiers from getting shit-faced drunk in their misery.”

“It’s banned, _because_ it’s dangerous.”

“It’s only dangerous if you’re a fuckwit idiot, what’s the big deal?”

“Control, Dean.” Michael rolls his eyes, all the words roll around in his mouth like fine gems. “ _Control_. It is Hellfire, and rosewater and-”

“Hellfire?” Dean interrupts. “I thought you said Tartarus.”

“ _Yes_ , because that’s what it was called before Lucifer took reign there. Also _as I was saying_ , this liquor is especially strong because it includes incense too. If it wasn’t for the tear of the Phoenix it would be _un_ drinkable.”

Dean could momentarily care less about the recipe, as he is too busy grinning from ear to ear at Michael’s frown, his blown, but somehow still brightly gleaming eyes, the slight flare to his nostrils, the way he bites down on his lower lip and glares at Dean in frustration as the human has clearly zoned out - missing out on most part of the lecture.

“ _Dude_ , do you get more exasperated the drunker you are?”

 

 

“Really?”

Michael tries to straighten his back in a clear sign of indignation, but he only gets as far as pulling up his shoulders. He is glowering in the most hilarious ways Dean has ever seen on an angel.

“ _Do you_ question the veracity of my words?”

“Of-fucking-course I do!” Dean slams his hand down on the counter. His abdominal muscles hurt from the laughter he fights to keep smothered down. “It’s impossible to imagine _you_ —”

He doesn’t get to finish the sentence, because his hard work finally paid out and the world around him feels light and warm and fuzzy, and suddenly the mental picture of Michael sitting in the middle of baby angels, aggravated and so _done_ , trying to keep some order among them is just too hilarious. Trying to imagine Cas as a baby is ab _surd_. Obviously he is still wearing his trench coat (tiny arms lost in the folds, and the wings of the coat just goes on and _on_ after the fledgling) and _oh boy, no_ , no toddler should have such a serious, squinty face on!

It takes him a while until he can come up for a breath again. His shoulder aches like a bitch, but also does his stomach, even his face feels like frozen into deep creases of laughter.

As soon as he blinks the tears from his eyes, he squints up at Michael.

The archangel is watching him with hooded, glowing eyes, his chin resting on his folded hands atop of the Hellfire bottle. It looks dangerous, but— But the vivid, uncanny red of his mouth is all the more arresting. And that strange smile...

“Dean?” Michael asks, and this whole fantastic dream-world echoes his soft voice.

His name has never sounded so holy and strong.

Dean’s face settles back to a cheeky grin. The enchantment settles heavily over his shoulders, but it doesn’t mean he is ready to submit.

“Now I understand why all angels turned out like robots. You’ve been nursing them.”

Michael scoffs. Miraculously, his chin doesn’t slip from its perch on top of the bottle.

“According to my understanding, robots do _not_ spend an entire training session rolling around in stardust, screeching, and laughing up galactic storms.”

“ _Man_.”

“ _One time_ ,” Michael goes on, before Dean could point out that the angel is clearly shitting him. “ _One time_ , it took _me_ half an hour to settle Anael’s garrison. They wouldn’t stop laughing and frolicking for _half an hour!_ I don’t think you understand it, Dean.”

Dean is fighting another round of bubbling laughter when realization slowly dawns on him.

“Wait. Anna... Wasn’t Cas and Uriel in Anna’s garrison?”

“They were. Among others.”

The hunter leans forward on his elbows, eyes rounded wide in disbelief.

“Don’t tell me Uriel Chucklehead was actually _funny_!”

“Uriel?” Michael’s smile widens a fraction. “No, no. It was all Castiel’s fault.”

“Cas?”

“Yes,” Michael pinches his lips into a slight pout; his brows furrow in thought. “Why, do you think he was one of Gabriel’s favourites? At one point, I seriously considered just picking him out of the garrison to make him trade places with Gadreel at the Garden’s Gate. There he could entertain the bees.”

“You have a fucked up sense of humour, man.”

“Or maybe you do. We had a whole bunch of tricksters back in the day. Gabriel and Lucifer’s admirers mostly.”

“Cas doesn’t sound this funny anymore. Or you know, most of the angels as they… ugh… must have been.”

“They are exactly what they have always been.”

“Come on, dude. They are stormtroopers from the exact fucking same line.” When Michael only squints up at him in confusion, Dean grasps his hair in a fist. He groans. “They are like clones. Just winged dicks with no personality or the guts to say no.”

“They aren’t the _same_ ,” Michael says. His nose is scrunched up into a slight grimace of disdain. “Uriel is not the same as Anael, or Raphael, or Hester, they retain their names, their distinct _abilities_ that made them fit for their right place.”

“They are all but running on orders. Do they also have a chip in their heads or something?”

“They are _soldiers_.”

“Brainless robots. Monsters!”

There is a second of silence ringing in the air. Now Dean is towering above Michael, his hands denting the softened wood cover of the counter. Opposite to him the archangel’s face remains calm, with a serene smile of the drunk who still manages to keep their sense of superiority together.

“Angels are monsters, Dean.” He says, and just to add emphasis to the bomb he just dropped, he takes a swig from his bottle. When he smiles his teeth glint in the colour of cyan. “We were created to sing praise to God, with flaming swords, and voices that deafen nations, and one of our wings constantly dripping with blood.”

“Yeah, I know. And you should remember that I’ll hunt you down all the same!”

“Even your precious Castiel?”

“Cas is different.”

“ _We_ are different from all the abominations you grub up, because we do what is _right_ —“

“Burning down half the planet isn’t right!”

“Right doesn’t always mean good, Dean,” As Michael raises his ocean-like eyes at him, Dean chokes on thin air. “You, Righteous Man, should know it.”

An entire volcano of emotions and thoughts erupt in Dean’s head, and they shake this dream-bar as well. Dust rains down on them, cool and sharp like prickling needles, but before they could settle on his skin or in his hair a gale tears the door open and whisks up the grains to smash them against the windowpanes.

Michael remains unruffled.

“And you need soldiers to do the right thing, huh?” Dean rasps after several tries.  

“That’s correct. The illusion of free will is to choose between right and bad, while you still believe you are doing the good thing. Good for you, good for your loved ones, good for humankind - it doesn’t matter, It is bad all the same.”

“You cannot take choice away!”

“I didn’t take anything that was meant for us to have. I saw Lucifer, who was thought brightest of us all, make horrible decisions in the name of what he claimed to be the good deed. Why would any angel know better than him?”

“You’re a hypocrite,” Dean rasps.

That makes Michael rile back for a second. He looks back at Dean with confusion tilting his head to the side.

“You think you know so much better than anyone.”

“I _know_ , because my Father told me.”

“He told you to kill your brother! What kind of father tells his son to kill his brother? I hate Lucifer as much as I hate you, pal, but what was that goddamn speech about you loving your brother in a way most people cannot understand?!”

“I love Lucifer—“

“Then you rather die than _see_ him dead, damn it! That’s what brothers do! That’s what I did!” Dean shouts. “My Dad wanted to do the right thing. He told me to kill Sam if he goes dark side. Sam tried to do the right thing, and begged me to end him. Fuck this stupid righteousness! I don’t care for your fucking free will, but if - if I killed Sam, if I did what Dad asked me, would you have your shitty Apocalypse?!”

Dean is panting, and only the lack of gravity keeps him standing on his shivering feet. He is bleeding from so many wounds he just tore up, he wonders when it will start pooling on the ground or in his lined up used glasses. But even despite that he is burning with the desire to rub it in Michael’s face that he is _so fucking wrong_.

Except Michael doesn’t seem to be a willing party in the debate.

To the hunter’s great surprise, and also great disappointment, he doesn’t fight to have the last word. His expression is blank, but not like the usual calculating kind of unreadable blank, it is just… empty. Glassy, like the monitor of Sam’s laptop when the battery dies.

Funny, how quickly their conversations can flip around.

Now, Dean can hardly imagine how five minutes ago they were smiling and sharing laughter. All he’s got at the moment is the sour wish for some mind reading abilities as he watches the archangel’s eyes gather more light, and also more stormclouds with each forced blink.

 

 

“I loved my brother, Dean,” Michael says softly at one point.

Dean doesn’t even want to look up. The back of his throat still tastes of copper.

“And I still do.”

The hunter merely scoffs. Yeah. Sure. Whatever he says.

“Don’t you miss your necklace?” Michael asks. His breath is warm and tickling and smells like a Profane Mass.

Dean ducks his head, the pang of guilt now washes over him with the force of the ocean’s wave.

With two tender fingers that make the bones in Dean’s jaw grind together Michael lifts his head. The angel is smiling.

“What?” Dean snaps. He tries real hard to blink back the tears that has gathered on his eyelids.

“Nothing… Just…” Michael bites down at his lip in thought. His gaze skids from one freckle to the other on Dean’s face drawing constellations only he can see. He exhales a tempest that resonates in the hunter’s marrow, before with the grace of the royal drunks he leans his brows against the other’s.

After a long silence he starts talking. Dean hears his voice echo from his very soul.

“Long before his rebellion… Long, _long_ before that - I wove Lucifer a necklace of stars. Pretty, pretty burning stars. I tortured them to the brink of their life - to the point where they shone brightest,” he chuckles. “Then I trapped them in diamonds for eternity. I thought - _for eternity_. It naturally didn’t shine close to Lucifer’s beauty but… but he wore it with such pride, Dean. Such pride - over something little I made him. He said he’d wear it forever…” Michael exhales a sigh on a strange smile. “I killed stars and suns, entire galaxies for him to throw away.”

A shudder runs along Dean’s spine.

He remembers the peaceful nights he sometimes shares with Sam, sitting out on the hood of the Impala and just watching the distant dots glimmer down on them. And then he remembers the patches of cheerless sky that are devoid of any light. He wonders if there were once stars Michael plucked from their orbit to arrange them in a clever net of stardust strings. He wonders if that fight could happen so long ago that their dying light has had enough time to caress the earth one last time. He wonders and he shivers at the thought.

Meanwhile Michael’s hand has moved to cup the back of Dean’s head, his blunt nails scratch on the short hairs.

“Now I have hope he misses it.”

Dean opens his eyes. Michael is very close. Despite the softness that Hellfire has drawn to his features and skin, the archangel’s mere presence sucks out the air from the depth of his lungs. His pupils dilate and drinks in the deadly light - he feels the holy flames licking at his nerves. He is stunned and all he can do is stare.

His silence is taken as permission - he truly is awashed with awe - and the dust-heavy air turns a scorching mix of hydrogen and helium when their lips meet. They move together, slick and pliant and beautiful, but then Michael presses further into the kiss - cutting, hard, lost, more, _please_ , more -

Dean pulls back and away.

He stares in horror, like when man looks at the sea. It is not Michael he sees.

His mouth is cut open and from his throat blood gushes past the gagging reflexes and pools around him. All he's got inside of him now paints the lightning colour sea black.

 

Dean jerked awake and promptly doubled over with pain. His heart was racing at an unforgiving pace that made him sick and drove him to the brink of passing out from the ringing clap of thunder behind his forehead.

When the agony finally let up all that filled his skull was the roar of wildfire. It was still enough for his convulsing muscles to loosen up somewhat, and he could stretch out on the bed. He was drenched in sweat, his lungs burnt but the pain and fear exhausted him.

As soon as his brows smoothed out to one single deep crease between  them, Dean slipped back to sleep.

 

As his dream-self blinks his eyes open, Michael is drawing back. The angel’s expression is conflicted.

Dean still cannot feel his mouth. It has gone numb, the last thing he recalls is Michael’s spit-shone lips pressing wet against his and then they turned cold as if he has bled out - or as if all his nerve endings have been severely burnt.

Michael lifts his hand and cups Dean’s jaw in it, carefully like one handles a delicate china bowl. The pad of his thumb rests at the corner of the hunter’s mouth.

Dean watches with curiosity and distress thrumming in the depth of his core, but the archangel’s eyes have grown distant and unreadable.

Suddenly a spark lands on his chapped bottom lip and Dean yelps in surprise at the sting. He easily tears away from Michael’s hold, claps his hand over his burning mouth and tries to blow the prickling flakes away.

“I told you it wasn’t meant for humans,” Michael says - and an entirely different kind of pain pulls Dean’s guts tight at how cold he sounds again. All fluid ease and warmth has left his face, his body is hard like the steel pushed in and cooled under water.

“I din’ take a shihp!” he protests, but his voice is still muffled by his palm.

“But I did,” Michael says. He crosses his arms over his chest and leans his hip against the sink on the other side of the counter. “What you had was only an aftertaste from my mouth. I don’t warn you in vain against your own foolhardiness.”

“My foolhardinesshh,” Dean repeats with sarcasm dripping from his lips and pooling in his hand. He exercises his face muscles in some nasty grimaces, bites down and licks along his lips to check if he can feel them again.

It provides enough distraction that he doesn’t have to see Michael’s head slowly, almost deliberately, lolling back to rest against the cupboard. Now the archangel’s throat is pulled tight - if Dean cared enough he could see his grace flutter to a distorted rhythm with his pulse. But all that Dean feels is that awful heavy sense of guilt settling over the both of them. It pulls him back to his seat.

He shifts, unsure of what to do now.

Gauging the angel’s stance, Dean sighs in resignation. There is no chance to move an archangel when he doesn’t want to be moved, so even if he could reach over the counter and grab his jacket he couldn’t pull Michael back into a kiss. He just - he just feels bad, for some reason that he didn’t respond, that he surrendered, that he _ran away_ almost screaming in fear from a battle that was no battle at all.

He knows he did something wrong, and, as per usual, he doesn’t stand a chance at making it right.

Just about to close his eyes and will himself back to wakefulness - because there is no fucking reason to draw out this awful misery especially when he is supposed to be free of this baggage not even a goddamn Angel of the Lord could move - when the air curls around him thick and light. Despite its warmth a chill runs down Dean’s spine.

“You should stay,” Michael tells him. He didn’t move a muscle. “Dreams are healing. Your mind and shoulder both need it.”

Dean bares his teeth. “I’d need so many things, and you meddling with my brain isn’t one of them!”

“And what would that be, Dean?”

Now he knows that the goosebumps breaking in massive waves on his skin are from the returning arrogance to Michael’s tone. And he hates it. He hates it so much, when the memory of summer nights trapped behind the archangel’s teeth are still vivid in his mind. He hates it and he wishes so desperately they could dive back into this artificial fog of oblivion and illusory inebriety. He is tempted to forget the freezing sizzle of his nerve endings and tell Michael to cut the crap, drain that stupid bottle and come back kissing him! However, as if all these thoughts were written on his forehead he is given this _look_.

It makes his stomach turn into an ice ball set aflame in its whirling.

Michael’s eyes are terrible and beautiful as he stares at the very core of Dean’s dream-self.

“What would you need, Dean? A safe house, shelter from the night with white picket fence filled with that woman’s love you were made to forget? The blessed ignorance of the benighted? To learn a different life that isn’t a combat against death all night all day, to be free from the knowledge that there will always be someone left behind?” Michael tilts his head just a little bit. “No matter how much you sacrifice of yourself, Dean, how many times you give your life, your soul, there will still be dozens you cannot save.”

Tell him something he doesn’t already know. This actually didn’t sound all that different from those little pieces of Heaven monsters has promised him throughout the years. Pieces of Heaven… Funny.

“And you would serve me all these on a silver plate for…?” Dean sneers.

“Once I could have made you such promises—”

“Then suck it, ‘cuz I don’t care! All I need is Sam and Cas to be safe. And now will you fucking kindly go back to simply staring? Because I’m done with your philosophy bullshit for the night!”

Michael complies. What makes it eerie is how, this time around, Dean can _see_ the words gathered on his tongue, and then watch his throat work as he swallows them down. What makes it terrifying is the indescribable line his lips form. They draw _power_.

No demon’s sneer, no stage-sad smile of the Devil could ever stun Dean like this.

Then the next time he blinks he is back to the very same setting how his dream started. Except now he is weighed by lead in his stomach, sinking, sinking out of his own body, and on the other side of the counter a blonde leans close to him, in her pose displaying all her mesmerizing curves. Dean’s eyes are immediately drawn to her cleavage, but he still forces them to stare at the kissable plump lips instead, or the killer lashes fluttering around the misty bedroom eyes - just the exact opposite of what Michael would be if he wore a fem—

_Why the fuck would he_ know _what Michael would look like as a woman?!_

Finally his guts were thrown back from the endless depth of the black hole, and now they are launched in his throat, but at least that pushes Dean off his seat as well.

He only blinks again, and he has torn the bar’s door open, a cloud of dust makes his eyes burn. He is still clinging to the doorknob, because he just cannot be sure if Michael was too lazy again to expand his dream further than a single room.

“Michael!” Dean roars into the sparkling air. “Mi—” The second call remains stuck and burning in his throat.

To his surprise the scenery in front of him seems to have been ripped from a page of Homely Homes in the Country. Rain-lush green grass covered hills roll into the distance to sparkle like emeralds where the steel grey sky cuts them away at an uneven line. To his right a stone wall in the colour of sand, and several shades of grey follows the curves of the landscape.

Now he is clinging to the doorknob of a cottage, inviting and intimately home-y in a fashion that is utterly unnerving.

It feels so unreal – a strange feeling one doesn’t get while dreaming.

An oddly strong sense of longing blows up in his chest and leaves Dean feeling sucked empty.

And there he remains. Standing frozen under the heavy sky, too terrified to move, too afraid to go snooping around with the looming sense of something ominous breathing in his neck.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: because I'm a little shit and can't withstand such opportunities when I'm building dreams, I insterted here certain hints to another 2014-like, but more post-Apoc story I may or may not ever write XD


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No one would ever gouge the admission out of him, but there were certain times when Michael envied Lucifer. Not his fall, per se, not even his free will - what a darned, rotten thing - but his clear, unshakable sense of purpose. Lucifer always knew what he wanted. Attention, adoration, to put his throne above God’s, the demise of humanity. 
> 
> And now Sam.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm constantly awed and thoroughly touched whenever I receive a new comment or kudos, you are the best and most wonderful things my darlings! Thank you so much for devoting your precious time to this awful mass of words I dare to call a fic. <3
> 
> I am truly sorry that it took me this long to update. I've been sitting on this for quite a while, wondering if I should just drop it, but as I was going home on the bus I kind of managed to build up the rest of the story and I hope I'll be able to make it just half as good as excited I became during that 20-minute ride.
> 
> I'm trying, I'm just slow now that I'm drawing more, and for a change it's Lucifer being insufferably uncooperative.

**Dream of a Stairway to the Skies**

**Chapter 16**

_**Fleeting Sk** y_

 

In retrospect, the silence and hostile brewing of Lucifer’s rage had held a certain charm over the disorientation and the constant buzz of the entire universe resonating through Michael now that the two archangels were free from Hell’s embrace.

Michael was tucked away in his usual corner of the well-worn couch, grinding his teeth in frustration about how every time a plane flew over the state it was a new, awful slice of a saw through his skull. Everything was harsh, intruding on his grace. And yet, he felt like he had been constantly sinking in the ocean and the world just got stuck on the surface. Except that even the humming of bumblebees in the garden sounded like a power-boat splitting his head and filling his ears with pounding blood.

He knew there was a reason he banned Hellfire from Heaven.

For a blessed minute he managed to clear his mind and take a breath - but then Adam shuffled into the room and bumped into the couch. Both of them groaned.

In the moment of teeth-filtered curses Michael wagered a glance at Adam, but with a silent moan that died still in his throat, he quickly shut his eyes in the shadow of his fingers.

“Ah, man!” Adam groaned. “Did you drink through last week or what? Because I definitely haven’t had a drop of booze since you moved in.”

“Come here.”

“As if!”

“ _Adam_.”

The warning tone only urged the boy to change directions and try to scuttle out of the room and away from the assumed threat that was Michael.

Michael sighed. “I won’t ask again.”

“I don’t wanna be your punching bag just because you clearly have a drinking problem!”Adam snapped.

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” Michael protested, but impatience and the returning, pulsating headache put a strain on his voice. “But now I might.”

Adam rubbed at his forehead. Reluctantly he went to circle the couch and settle in the opposite corner from Michael. For the sake of his well-being he saw it to be wiser not to antagonize a hungover archangel who was slightly obsessed with order and being obeyed.

After a tense second Michael beckoned him again.

“Ever heard of saying please?”

The muscles around the angel’s mouth tightened.

“You’re in pain,” Michael side-tracked, affirming Adam’s suspicion of a negative answer. “Why didn’t you say so?”

“It’s not a big deal,” he shrugged, but despite himself he scooted closer. “I have managed so far all right, thanks.”

“You could just ask me or Lucifer.”

“When I have an insufferable angelic nurse regularly checking on me?”

Despite the petulant act Adam did curl up against Michael’s side. Warm, just on the edge of comfortably so, and ridiculously safe. He shouldn’t be feeling this nice and cozy tucked under someone’s arm who had literally dragged him through hell just because there was no family therapist in Heaven.   

Michael’s hand settled on Adam’s head. Adam tensed up immediately.

“I’ll only heal you.”

“But could you keep it gentle this time? You know, less like a brick to the head would be nice.”

Michael hummed. “I’m not qualified for that, I’m sorry.” He was no war-doctor, no healer. He only knew how to shed blood and watch it flow down his own side, but not how to close wounds without punching new ones. That was Raphael’s duty. Gentle, caring Raphael, the one gone, maybe forever.

“I’ll make it quick,” the archangel promised.

No matter how much Adam tried to brace himself for it, after he gave a begrudging noise of assent, he still couldn’t help the pitiful groan as the shock of angelic grace rushed through him.

“I hate you,” he groaned.

“Of course,” Michael allowed.

 

~*~

 

When Sam’s phone went off in his pocket he nearly jumped off the bed. Even though that didn’t happen he still accidentally headbutted Lucifer in the nose – which arguably must have hurt him more than the fallen angel.

“Yeah?” he called in, while he sent an apologetic look at the other.

“Hey, Sammy.” Dean’s gruff voice answered. “Guess what the hell!”

Sam frowned. “I’m not guessing. What the hell?”

“Baby is full of fucking dents! And the ground is covered in ice chunks. Nuts size! Jesus Christ, what a fucked up weather! Do you think Crowley’s coming back for our heads or somethin’?”

Sam glanced over at Lucifer, who looked rather bemused.

“I really don’t think he’d risk that.”

“Yeah…Man, I just realized! Sammy, are you still out there? Did the storm catch up with you, or did your majestic mane save you from a concussion?”

“Dean, chill, I’m good,” Sam rolled his eyes. “When it arrived I just stepped under a roof until it passed.”

“Do you want a ride?”

“Thanks man. But no. I’m good. Stop worrying.”

For a too long moment Dean paused. As if he pondered how he could let out a relieved or frustrated sigh so that Sam wouldn’t catch it.

“Okay,” the elder brother conceded. “How about breakfast, though?”

“Sounds good. Meet you in twenty?”

“Yeah, yeah. See you.”

When he hung up Sam came face to face with Lucifer. The angel’s nose was scrunched up in a grimace of a child who just got told playtime was over. Sam didn’t know if he should laugh or not, so he only curled a rather unamused frown.

“Stop with this face. The mental connotations are really disturbing.”

Lucifer only pulled his lips into line with his nose.

“Do you really have to go?” He asked, and not whined, because archangels, fallen or not, just did _not_ whine.

Sam allowed a little smile. Carefully he cupped Lucifer’s cheek in his palm.

“Dean’s easier to handle once his belly’s full.”

Lucifer rolled his eyes.

“Or you could just ignore him. These arguments the two of you have are getting ridiculous.”

Sam chuckled, and in an attempt to silence the grumbling he pecked a kiss to the corner of Lucifer’s indignant mouth.

“Especially, how it’s turning into some Romeo and Juliet tear-jerk drama. Which I didn’t like that much for the first read either. Who do you think would play Mercutio’s role though? A poor, amusing death that would be. My bet would be Castiel. Or Adam.”

“What?” Scandalous, Sam pulled back to look at Lucifer.

Lucifer blinked back at him, confused. “What?” he asked back.

Sam blinked, too, then rubbed at his eyes. He just hadn’t slept well. He was tired. And hearing things. Yeah. _Nothing new_.

“Nothing. I just… I think I really gotta go.”

Lucifer eyed him as he got up. “I could fly you there. Much faster than walking on foot.”

“I know, but I’m pretty sure I smell of ozone and, umm…”

“And death.”

“I wouldn’t call it _death_ ,” Sam protested, snuffing at his sweatshirt.

“I’m the devil, Sam. I’d be offended if I smelled like anything else.”

That finally elicited a weak little laugh from Sam, the anxiety somewhat easing from his chest.

“Point is, that I still should look like I was working out.”

Lucifer sighed. He sat up, stretched gingerly. “Whatever your heart wishes, Sam. Although I still insist on walking with you.” He paused for a thought. “ _Walking_. What an abominable peculiarity.”

“You’re horrible.”

“Thank you.”

 

~*~

 

No one would ever gouge the admission out of him, but there were certain times when Michael envied Lucifer. Not his fall, per se, not even his free will - what a darned, rotten thing - but his clear, unshakable sense of purpose. Lucifer always knew what he wanted. Attention, adoration, to put his throne above God’s, the demise of humanity.

And now Sam.

Not always what was best for him, but that had never really bothered his little brother. Upsides of being irredeemably prideful. Even now, Lucifer didn’t bother with figuring out how the Cage could open. How? By whom? Why now of all times? He didn’t know the answer right away, and so he didn’t care. He didn’t care much for Adam, the Civil War, Hell hunting for Purgatory. He bothered with Michael just enough to know that his big brother wouldn’t try to stab him in the back.

Nothing, absolutely nothing could disturb him on his mission to gain Sam Winchester’s favours.

Michael mused he could do the same.

Except he couldn’t.

His attention tried to run a thousand places every second of the day, drilled in through millennium upon millennium of practice. He _had to_ know where each and every angel in his army was, how he had to file through myriads of prayers by the hour, how he had to provide the fundamental structure for the network of celestial intent to keep _everything_ in order up in Heaven…

Michael had troubles focusing his attention on one single problem.

At times he thought that Dean could silence all the voices, whispers, mumbling prayers, cries of blasphemy, screams for justice, murmurs of praise, the howl of being truly hollow inside. He could get lost in the warm slide of lips, wonder if Dean knew he could trace constellations on his skin, his fingertips wandering beneath his shirt. Sometimes he felt the hell-torn pieces of himself being rebuilt in the glow of his true vessel’s soul...  But then Michael would be always reminded that, in fact, he was a tolerated, but rather unwished and despised person at best.

Michael only shrugged. So be it. Times have long changed, and he had stopped being loved and adored. Reverence had given place to wonder-wounded fear.

The envy, the looming desperation was pushing Michael deeper and deeper into the current. Doubts and harsh reprimand swirled around him. Michael spread his wings - feathers immediately caught in whirlpools.

In the distance lightning struck the water. The hairline bolts gathered on his form, tickling his senses.

Michael didn’t gasp for air. He didn’t have to. He went nowhere he didn’t want to - he adapted instantly. He enjoyed the rush, the scrapes that only strengthened his armour with time.

The swirls unravelled and combed into the fissures of his flight feathers to form a whole. Their power now his. Whatever pain might tear at him, he wouldn’t break.

_Michael_.

He lifted his head from the soundproof boiling water towards the steel coloured sky—

Then a star burst, flashing white, into his headspace.

 

~*~

 

When Sam arrived at the diner he couldn’t spot his brother’s grumpy brooding form anywhere.

He was relieved a little bit.

Still in the doorway he combed his fingers through his hair, shaking a few drops of water out in the process. Lucifer’s mean of helping with Sam’s ozone-reeking predicament was plain and simple: a quick shower of barely melted ice. Obviously, he had missed to ask Sam’s opinion on the matter. Now at least he had some time to thaw a bit, and let the smell of grease and coffee seep into his clothes.

Even though he wasn’t sure he could eat, he still gave his order to the waitress, lady with cheerful eyes and a weirdly knowing smile, which prompted Sam to blush lightly.

This was going to be just fine - he kept on telling himself for the second time that morning.

He wasn’t really worried that Dean would know what he had been up to with Lucifer. Sure, he knew about their _affair_ , which he tried his best not to blow up about every minute of the day, but… he didn’t know how far Sam had fallen.

As he twined his fingers together to stop them from shaking, he still could see the fine layer of diluted blood, he could still feel the cold seeping through the open wounds on Lucifer’s skin, the soft grey light painting supernal shadows on Sam’s hands. The last time it had been gallons of demon blood that kept Nick together by the seams (Sam still had to force down a shudder at the thought) - but now, Lucifer apparently was in great need of an alternate solution.

Sam inhaled deep, filled his lungs to the brink of bursting with warm air, held it for a second then blew it all out. Slowly.

There was him, of course. Alternate and perfect vessel number one, who was slowly but surely slipping into insanity. It would still take a while if they were very lucky - because the other option was a one second break down and…. he didn’t really want to think about that. For now. But it didn’t change the fact that alongside the civil war in Heaven and Lucifer they would have to deal with Sam’s situation as well.

Hopefully still before it blows up in their faces.

He sighed. Their options looked peachy just as usual.

By the time the pot of coffee arrived, Dean also found his way through the door. With a groan he slipped into his seat opposite to Sam. Automatically he wrapped his hands around the cup, and sighed.

“Bossy Sam’s back in town,” Dean grinned, although a bit weary. “I love it.”

Sam scoffed. “Dude. Didn’t you just sleep through a hail storm?”

“It sure doesn’t feel like it,” Dean gave it back, with an aborted shrug.

Sam was going to ask about his shoulder, why was he still so damn stubborn that he couldn’t drop just a hint to the dozens of angels swarming in and around their lives, but then the waitress returned, and Dean was all charming smiles and boyishly twinkling eyes.

For a second Sam felt horrible about what he would have to drop on his brother.

He twined his fingers around his cup, staring at his own reflection in the cup.

“Dean… I need to tell you something.”

Dean looked up. For a second his expression sharpened with concern.

“Angels can’t knock up people, I’m certain,” he said, gruff, strained to squeeze just this much jest into the looming situation. “I mean, there was the nephilim deal, but those were chicks… You’re not pregs are ya?”

Sam gave a humourless bark of laughter. “I think it’d be easier to handle.”

Dean pushed everything that was sitting between them to the corner of the table. He entwined his fingers on top and looked at Sam seriously.

“Okay. Talk to me.”

Sam turned his gaze away. The coiling sense of anxiety and shame felt strangely comforting around the pit of his stomach.

“I think it’s coming back. The - the memories. From behind the wall?”

When he glanced up, he still caught the way Dean’s eyes rounded, white surrounding the striking green irises, jaw clenched tight, fingers straining against each other until they turned pale like the sun outside.

“Look, I’m sorry. I wasn’t sure. And then there’s Cas - who we still couldn’t help out, and it’s really not that bad, just, just wanted to, I dunno, say something in time.”

“How long, Sam?”

“Ugh. A while. I don’t know. I didn’t really notice at first. Flashes, and things slipping into reality… And we had something more important to deal with. Cas—”

Dean rubbed a hand down his mouth, fingertips scraping along his stubbled jaw.

“We helped Cas as best as we could,” Dean stated. He mustered up a tone that had Sam shudder. If he didn’t go to bed with the crippling feeling of helplessness for their friend every night he would even believe it. “You come first Sam. Come hell or high water. Literally.” His eyes narrowed. “You’ve had no trouble until—”

“It has nothing to do with Lucifer!” Sam hissed, mindful of keeping his voice down. “I haven’t seen him in a while. It’s… Dean, we knew this couldn’t last forever.”

His brother nodded.

In the silence that stretched between them the cheesy light music playing in the diner sounded surreal. Then Dean let his lower lip slip free from between his teeth. His expression stern, determined.

“We’re back to research again then. See what can heal such… whatever wound category yours fall into.”

Sam nodded grimly. “Should start with mortal wounds, probably. Tearing the world apart mortal.”

When their waitress returned, suddenly neither of them felt that hungry at all.

 

~*~

 

Michael curled in on himself to try and keep the stabbing pain within. A growl tore from his chest. He pressed a hand over his eyes.

“What a harmonious, miserable pair you are,” Lucifer said, grinning in the middle of the living room.

Adam buried his face into Michael’s side. “I’m cursed,” he moaned.

“You two should get out more,” Lucifer went on. “The sun shines bright, and even the exhalation of this despicable species cannot ruin this fine morning.”

“Can’t you be bright and shiny somewhere else?” Michael grouched.

“I gladly would, but see, I’m _such_ a loving brother, that I want to share my happiness with my dearest friends.”

The orange glow through the bone of Michael’s hand and the thin cover of his eyelids grew closer and more piercing.

“Go and share it with Sam. We’ll catch the news later.”

Lucifer gave a soft, merry gasp. “Do you expect me not to tell you the good news in person?”

“Yes, I do.”

The fine hairs on Michael’s arm were standing on end at his brother’s close proximity.

Lucifer leaned close, only a breath away from Michael. His intense gaze pried at the fingers covering his brother’s eyes.

“What are you going to do about it?” he sneered.

Michael’s lips curled back from his teeth in a snarl.

“I’d snap all your bones and obliterate your rotting vessel to the last atom,” he hissed. “See how Sam would like you that way.”

“I want to see you try,” Lucifer sneered.

Michael felt his pain climb to blinding heights. As it neared its unbearable peak terrible claws sank into his mind and tore the excruciating pain in half.

Instinctively, he jerked his head forward, bringing their brows together with a mighty crash. The earth had not crumbled so, not even when it opened up to gorge an entire city in one piece. It drowned out Adam’s yelp as he almost stumbled to the floor, blinded from the agony of his own skull broken in half.

Lucifer cried out in surprise. He staggered back.

Immediately, Michael sprung from his seat, one hand fisted in Lucifer's weather worn shirt, and he brought the other one down to his brother's face. He saw red sparkle white - sprinkled on his knuckles, tiny drops on the coffee table, flowing on Lucifer's maimed skin.

But Lucifer’s rage had ignited as well. His teeth bared in a soundless battle cry he launched himself at Michael.

They fell to the floor, they struggled, wrestled, spat curses that made the sun cover behind a lapel of thick clouds. Grace mingled with blood pooled at the foot of the furniture, serving the source of light in the dimmed room. At one point Lucifer managed to pin Michael’s shoulders to the ground, straddling his middle, hand like a vice around his throat, thumb on the racing pulse.

"What is this?" He hissed. "You want to fight it out, brother? Can't you be without your war?"

"This is me - teaching you your place," Michael snarled back.

A dangerous, daring smirk curled on the devil's face.

“I rather like my place," he taunted.

Michael’s eyes flashed, caught ablaze with only the reflection of holy flames for now. His previous pain forgotten in the rampant flow of adrenaline, his old thirst for blood rekindled after so many weeks out of the Cage, now his vessel yielded to his will without flaw. He drew the muscles in his body tight; planted his heels on the floor and raised his hips. Michael didn’t care that Lucifer’s entire weight was about to crush his windpipe as he managed to tilt his little brother off balance. It was a warning sign for Lucifer. Michael could throw him over if he so desired. It didn't matter that he was terribly hungover. It didn't matter that Lucifer was drunk on love. One could never grab a sword by its edge and hope they wouldn't be cut by it.

One more second and it would be a full-scale war between the two of them.

Then Lucifer pulled back.

He didn’t lift from his newly found seat, straddling Michael’s waist, but he let up his terrible grip and settled back in the cradle of his brother’s hips and ribs. Instead of a panther ready for the kill he looked more of a house cat eying the jar of cream sitting idle and curiously content in his place.

Michael, too, had slumped back. The pain and sickening pulsation of the world returned. In hopes of somewhat sedating his agony, he rather looked up at Lucifer through hooded eyes.

He frowned. “You look almost beautiful again," he noted hoarsely.

Lucifer’s eyes hooded as well, his lips curled in satisfaction.

Michael let his arms fall, hands resting on Lucifer’s knees.

“Sam?” he asked.

Lucifer nodded. “Sam.” His features smoothed out, beneath his perishing flesh he was like the proud newborn star Michael had once loved so deeply.

“Congratulations, then,” Michael sighed.

The breath leaving his lungs felt like surrender. He hated the sour taste of it. He hated the looming sense of floating just barely with unfathomable depth gaping at his back, pulling, pulling at his salt and water-soaked wings.

Lucifer’s curious look was like a hole being pierced in his vessel.

“You should step up your game too, Michael.”

“I don’t need your advice.”

“But you need _him_.”

“Not anymore.”

Surprise bloomed on Lucifer’s face, before his lips curled back from his teeth, and further up, cutting at his cheeks oozing snow-coloured blood as he laughed.

“You think I’m wooing Sam as my true vessel?”

“I tell myself that it is not the case.”

“And you are correct.” One of Lucifer’s hands settled gently on Michael’s cheek. “For once, Michael, you should follow my example.”

“Why would I? I’m not that easily infatuated by _love_ as you are.”

“That word feels like a curse on your tongue,” Lucifer noted screwing up his nose in disdain. “Did you forget what love is?”

Involuntarily, Michael flinched.

On the couch Adam peered over his drawn-up knees at the archangels, battling fear with curiosity.

Michael sent a hard look at his brother.

“I didn’t forget my orders.”

“I’m not talking about bowing to these abortions and claim to love them more than God.”

“I don’t know what other kind of love you must be talking about then.”

The blue eyes narrowed before a strange lively light flashed in them. Suddenly, as if he had been reclining on springs, Lucifer launched forward his nose an inch from Michael’s

“This!” Lucifer exclaimed on a stifled voice. “This is what I’m talking about,” and he waved at himself. Beneath layers of flesh and bone his grace that was criss-crossed with rifts oozing evil now seemed more even as well. A bright crystal ball once broken to pieces and now being put back together until the last miniscule shard was in place. “This kind of love that makes you belong. This is what gives you a sense of what life is. Who needs God when you are loved like this?”

Dark clouds gathered over Michael’s brow.

“That is a twisted _human_ feeling.”

“Are you calling _me_ human?”

Michael didn’t answer.

“This is nothing human. This is feeling, something you are too afraid of,” Lucifer hissed.

“It is what made you fall, Lucifer. The feeling you’re talking about comes with jealousy. The sense of entitlement and greed.”

Words and curses tumbled over each other on the tip of Lucifer’s tongue, but he then caught glance of something on his brother’s face that made him pull back.

“You once claimed to love me,” he said softly.

Michael remained silent. He even averted his eyes. His face, though, remained hard and still as the dead blocks of marble that entrapped the angels.

“Was that not true?” Lucifer prodded further.

“That was different.”

At the tone Lucifer was tempted to scoff. Just stand and leave. Years and centuries spent in freezing storms couldn’t harden his heart enough to be resistant to the very same timbre that had pronounced him a monster. For the very same, very despised and scornful love that now brought light back to his world.

“You’re no fun at all,” he pronounced.

Lucifer stood and stretched. There were no new sores opening on his tight skin, and that alone was truly divine.

The need to go and see Sam was nauseating. In a good way - but it still took power over his self and that was some disturbing development.

“Lucifer,” Michael called out gently before Lucifer could spread his wings and just leave. Leave his brother and his boy alone for their grumpy sobering nap. Let them be damned together.

“What?”

“It’s good to see you shine again, little brother.” Michael sounded hoarse and as emotional as a drill sergeant, but Lucifer couldn’t help his expression soften from the frown.

“It’s a good feeling, too.”

 


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi again, long time no see, I know.   
> Please trust me when I say that I'm terribly grateful with all of you who have made it this far and still have a vague recollection of what's happened in this story so far! You're doing far better than I am. I've moved past making promises - I know I did for the past more than half a year, and I'm sorry for taking this long. I could write a whole essay on how I want to re-work the beginning of this fic. I want to at least pick it apart, because I plan on taking a little different turn with this story. And I might have serious troubles with characterization consistencies. But I'll try to focus on what lies ahead. I'll try to write shorter chapters (like this one), so that it won't take literally forever to update.   
> I will try. And thank you, from the bottom of my heart for reading! <3

**Dream of a Stairway to the Sky**

**chapter 17**

_**Mexican standoff** _

 

 

“How’s the meditation going?”

Sam’s eyebrows twitched in irritation.

“It’d go much better if you’d shut up for a minute.”

Dean grinned. “You sure you don’t wanna sit on top of a mountain with the pointy peak tickling your ass?”

“I swear I’m going to throw my shoes at you!”

Such exchange wasn’t entirely unusual in their past week.

Their days had been spent with research, going through what felt like half of Wikipedia, arguments and phonecalls at various volumes that included the Winchesters having been thrown out of one motel, a state library and two diners. Then there was coffee, coffee and more coffee, and a rather interesting debate about unicorn horns after which Dean  _ had to _ take a shower he felt so sparkly and itchy. They both were very adamant on denying that conversation ever happened between two grown men. 

Unfortunately this hadn’t changed the point: Sam was heading down the highway to hell, and they still had no idea how to slam down on the brakes and turn the whole cart around. Which also meant that they needed more research, and coffee. Also some alone time, before the sound they could  _ see _ at this point painted the order on the wibbly-wobbly vibrating walls to drown each other in glitter or something equally ludicrous. 

Except that when Dean opened the door to leave he almost bumped into Castiel. It took Dean’s brain an awfully uncomfortable second to comprehend that it wasn’t a weirdly human shaped tan-coloured rock rooted in the middle of the corridor.

“What is it?” Sam asked, craning his neck behind Dean’s back.

Just as Cas said “Me,” Dean took a step to the side, opened the door wider and wordlessly invited Cas inside. It would be faster and far more dignified than croaking out a jumbled “Hey, Cas.” Sam did a far better job at greetings anyway as he demonstrated immediately.

“What’s up?” Dean asked as he let the door fall shut. 

“Civil war,” Cas grunted. “And technically, it’s everywhere. On a different plane.”

“Cool,” the Winchesters agreed. This was one of the lamest conversations their little team had had in quite a while.

Even if Cas had a deadpan comeback to that about the overall temperature of Heaven he didn’t deem Sam and Dean worthy of sharing such information with. His eyes were trained on the walls. He started walking around the room like a stern teacher who got up on the possibly worst side of the bed inspecting his students’ frantic scribbling of the bullshit answers on a test he knew they would ultimately fail. The slightly panicked, so, so young look on Sam’s face told Dean that he wasn’t the only one feeling this way. 

Layers upon layers of charms and seals and warding spells became visible under Castiel’s scrutinizing frown. It looked like a crime scene under the ultra-violet light. It was also equally messy. The brothers had already spent enough days in this motel room - questionable decision if they wanted to remain undetected, but they were so  _ tired _ \- that they had done the owner a favour and repainted the tacky wallpaper in white. More space for wardings. One day they’ll be arrested for vandalism.

Cas came to a halt in front of the wall between the bathroom door and Sam’s bed.

“You are appropriately protected.” He said, as if it was actually surprising. “This section, however, is absolutely useless.”

“We’re trying, okay?” Dean grumbled. From the corner of his eye he saw Sam fidget on the bed.

“These are very weak and low-level dream-protection spells,” Cas turned to them. “You could buy a dreamcatcher. It’s less bother, and works the same against angels.” 

“You just said we did an A+ job. You’re the one who dropped by without any announcement, and I’m sure it wasn’t to criticize our handwriting.”

“You should move places soon--”

“Yeah, no shit. It was already scheduled.”

“And you also need to focus your wardings more,” Cas said. The untypical rise of his voice left an uncomfortable moment of ringing silence in the room.

Dean cleared his throat. “Is there maybe something you want to tell the class?”

The line of Cas’s shoulder suggested that he was simultaneously cursing and counting to five in his head as he turned to them. “You can’t afford to accidentally put up spells that would work against each other, or would attract too much attention.”

“The books don’t exactly clarify on these,” Sam defended their hard work softly.

“I know,” Cas agreed. His gaze was so intense in that moment that Dean had to look away. He had no idea how Sam could stand it. “That’s why I needed to come and check. The war… Well, the war  might soon take a turn. An unfortunate turn.” The words came into open space as if Cas had to drag them out with a hook from the very depth of his guts. They fell heavy, and bloody menacing. “It’s better if you won’t be needing my help in the near future. I might not be able to provide it”

That was where Sam could take it no longer, and he, too, had to turn his eyes to the floor. Despite his general frustration Castiel’s worry became tangible immediately. 

“What’s wrong?”

_ What isn’t?  _

Dean really wished he could feel as horrible as he should. They should focus on their promise. Figure out what would lead to this  _ unfortunate turn _ in the war, what got Cas’s feathers so ruffled but… There was some saying about old paths and new paths.

“Dean? Sam?”

Dean stubbornly sealed his lips together and left the explanation to Sam. He didn’t even glance up.

While Sam brought Cas up to date on his state of toeing the line of total breakdown, Dean took his sweet time to do the shopping in his head.  That was his way of counting. He took an actual shopping cart and methodically piled stuff on each other against the backside of it. Just killing time, and definitely not thinking about the enraging sense of helplessness that had his skin crawl. He didn’t have the time or the will to bar his heart from breaking at how brave Sammy tried to sound. How flippant, as if it hadn’t been Cas who had driven a sledgehammer against that wall in his mind. As if it was no big deal that he was about to experience a possible Apocalypse inside  _ and  _ outside of his skull. No, Dean was really not in the mood for making a scene so early.

Except… Except it wasn’t just Cas and Raphael having a catfight with nukes  _ in Heaven _ . Goddamn Lucifer was topside and breathing, and Dean wasn’t entirely convinced his mere presence didn’t get flowers to wither and birds to drop from the sky and people bite the dust wherever he went.

“What if,” Dean started, clearly cutting Sam off in the middle of an explanation of his own. “What if it’s not reality  _ slipping _ as you call it but memories returning? Sam?”

“No.” Sam shook his head firmly. “Dean. Lucifer wouldn’t hurt me.”

“Yeah, sure, because he said so. Sammy, damn it,” that was it about Dean keeping his tone mild and unhostile. “He’s the Devil with a capital for a fucking good reason! He’s not nice.”

“He is to me!”

“There is a possibility that both of you are right.” Cas interjected. Immediately, it turned Dean’s attention at him.

“How’s that any good?!”

“It was Hell, Dean,” Cas tried placatingly. Always the voice of reason even when he, himself, would love to scratch a few layers of strata off the surface of the earth. “It’s hard to tell in that realm what is  _ real _ and what is conjured by the wrecked mind. The place where Sam was--”

“And whose fault is that, Cas?”

Castiel lost his cool. “I told you a thousand times, and will a million more that  _ I’m sorry _ !” he snapped, exasperated, angry - furious even. “Do you think I’d ever forgive myself?”

“I don’t care! It doesn’t change the fact that--”

“There is no point arguing about that, guys,” Sam cut in. “What does it help to put a blame on someone?”

“Sorry, Sam, but when did you see a patient diagnose himself?” At that Sam practically choked on how much he wanted to protest. “We need to know the reason why you’re going nuts. Short term solutions work no longer!”

“You only want to hear that it’s Lucifer’s fault!”

“Maybe you should see it too that way!

“Maybe Sam should work through his trauma,” Cas said. His voice sent a chill down Dean’s spine.

“What do you mean by that?” Sam asked a little haltingly, his voice roughened on the sandpaper of his throat. 

Cas shrugged. “Hell if I know.” Then he turned and just like that, without further ado left through the door leaving two gaping Winchesters in the room.

Dean was the first to snap out of it. Too many goddamn things were wrong here. He jumped to his feet just as the door clicked shut. He practically tore it off its hinges in his rush to still catch Cas before he took flight.

“Cas!” he shouted. “Cas, hold up!”

Thanks to some miracle - and wasn’t it a wonder in itself that kind miracles still happened to the brothers nowadays? - Dean caught Cas standing in the parking lot. He knew Cas was waiting for him. Impatient, visibly bristling with irritation, but he still waited for Dean. He would have never caught the angel if he wanted to play moody, wounded teenager and storm off. Undoubtedly, he had all the right in the world to do so. 

Castiel’s eyes were steely - daring Dean to waste his time any further.

“Cas, I’m sorry!” Dean rushed out panting, somehow refraining from doubling over to catch his breath. “But it’s  _ Sam _ !” 

The angel’s body was tense. His gaze flickered from Dean’s desperation-shined eyes to the side and back several times, throat working around frustration. Eventually he swallowed; his shoulders sagged.

Cas gave a low grunt, more of a resigned sigh.

“What about Michael?”

Dean’s head spun at where this could have come from.

“What about him?”

Castiel cast him an impatient look. “His name comes up more and more in Heaven. It’s rather unnerving. Moral’s dropping constantly and steeply. It’s not really helpful in a war. Especially not when we’re fighting an archangel. Dean,” and suddenly the cover of scorn and hard edges withered, and for a too long second Cas seemed helpless and so painfully lost. “I cannot focus on helping Sam  _ and  _ lead a rebellion against two. Not when one of them is Michael!”

“I know, Cas, but--”

“You must be sure that Michael doesn’t want to return to Heaven.”

“Yeah. I get it. I guess. As far as I can tell.” Dean hated so much how unsure he sounded. Anything but what he wanted to convey. With the history between them - among all of them - the mere idea of straight out lying to Cas’s face was already unbearable. “He’s in Dr. Phil’s good care. I mean, Adam would have called if something was going downhill. Honestly, as long as Michael’s hanging out with Lucifer he’ll be a-okay.”

Castiel squinted suspiciously at him. Dean couldn’t really blame him.

“It’s a, ugh, it’s a brother thing?” he tried. “Sam said they aren’t hanging out with Satan, and the Apocalypse hotline’s been silent since we dealt with Crowley. What else could Lucifer be up to? They are brothers, problematic, sure, but this much I know.” Dean put a hand on Castiel’s shoulder, looked into his eyes and with all the hope he still somehow had managed to delude himself with he shared it with Cas too, “They’d keep an eye on each other. And that’s the best Mexican standoff you can get.”

While his doubt was softened, Cas still looked unconvinced, so Dean reached for his last resort. “You said so yourself, Cas. We could trust Michael on his own word. He doesn’t want to hurt Lucifer again, and he doesn’t want to fight Raphael for him either. That’s as safe as we’ve got. But - if it makes you feel any better, I can try and talk to him? See what Michael’s gotta say on Heavenly gossip?”

Castiel’s expression tightened, but as he searched Dean’s face, his eyes weren’t all that hard and accusatory any longer. Their looks matched in levels of desperation for a sliver of hope. 

“I’ll see what I can find out,” Cas conceded.

He gave a firm nod - that hopefully spoke louder than what remained unsaid - and then he was gone.

Dean watched the empty space where Castiel had stood a moment ago. One would think one more boulder thrown atop the mountain of regrets that weighed them down didn’t matter much.

Seconds ticked by. They slowly turned into a full minute. 

Kicking angrily at the curb or other nearby cars wouldn’t help the slightest bit. So Dean rather climbed into the Impala, filled his lungs with the scent of hot leather and on the breathe out he fished his phone out of his pocket. Adam would hate him, but Dean could only call him and have him play messenger until angels of the lord started carrying phones on their borrowed persons. He had sworn he wouldn’t pray again. That was one vow he was awfully determined not to break.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meanwhile, make way for the next chapter, for which I have some actual hopes for!


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I don’t need to intrude on your thoughts to know,” Michael said, smooth and slick, and so despicably charming. “It’s all on your face. In the tension around your mouth, the nervous light in your eyes. You worry for Sam.”
> 
> “Like fuck I’m going to talk about my brother with you!”
> 
> “But maybe we could come to an agreement.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm having all kinds of mixed feelings about this chapter, but if I chicken out of posting it then it'll be yet another year before I update so....here you go. Please enjoy!

**Dream of a Stairway to the Skies**

**chapter 18**

**_A shot in the dark_ **

 

Michael settled back on the couch, stretched out as one prepared to sleep. He allowed his grace to spill through his veins, spun a fine veil to wrap around his muscles, cover his skin and spread farther. He felt himself thin. He became the blue of the sky, the black of night and the mist of morning. Even without the casual focus his throne in Heaven had allowed, it was all too easy to forget how tiring it was to be present in only one space, in only one head.

Once again he was a spider, sitting in the middle of his web, content, sated. Resting.

_ Michael. _

One string was plucked.

_ Michael _ . 

It quivered. Could be a fly caught in his webbing. Could be nothing more but one stray raindrop  fallen from the tree above .

_ Michael _ .

Michael realized he had known nothing of hunger. Now he was famished. 

It stunned him how much he wanted to launch himself after this feeling, chase the thunder booming the call, and grasp the lightning that spelled his name. He hesitated just long enough that when Adam carefully shook his shoulder Michael jolted awake. When he sought again for the beckoning call, it was once again one with the noise of the universe. 

“What is it?” Michael asked. It took him a second to peel his fingers from their grip in the front of Adam’s shirt. He didn’t realize when he had grasped at the boy.

“Dean,” Adam squeezed out. His eyes were huge and black with panic. “He wants to talk to you.”

Adam placed the cell phone on the arm of the couch, then without (demanding) waiting for an apology he hurried out of the room. 

Michael precariously put the phone to his ear. “Yes.”

“Where’s Satan?”

Of course, why would a gruff hunter bother with such insignificant things as greetings or a generally pleasant tone.

“Don’t know,” Michael answered, deliberately measured. “Don’t care.”

“Shouldn’t you keep the world safe from him?”

Michael was about to understand why humans constantly had the urge to pinch the bridge of their nose when frustrated. It was a low, simmering kind of tension gathering in that particular spot in his skull, which slowly spread like ink in water. It made his eyelids heavy and his teeth burn. He could barely keep his upper lip from curling into a sneer or a snarl.

“With your active cooperation. For which I am not pressing at the moment before you blow up on me.” It brought strange satisfaction to hear Dean growl on the other end of the line. “I much prefer being contacted through prayer. It’s a more… dignified way of communication.”

Dean only gave another wordless, rude sound. 

“You’re feeling really eloquent today I see”

“Fuck you,” Dean groaned. Michael refrained from noting how this was only confirming his point exactly. “Whatever. Whatever. Can we have a decent conversation without you being smashed or whatever?”

Michael would be very reluctant to admit but he was so surprised by the suggestion - that Dean took initiative in their meetings! - that he forgot about his incomprehensible hunger, Adam’s recent evasiveness, Lucifer missing, even his own revelation at the end of their last encounter with Dean and agreed without a thought.

 

 

They met at a diner - full of people, one of them more troubled than the other seeking the solution to their problems in the form of coffee that could never absorb enough sugar to taste less bitter, and greasy comfort food. 

Michael only took one step after his arrival and Dean was immediately out of the Impala. His eyes mindlessly caressed the square line of the hunter’s shoulders, and took in the determination that lay in the shadowed dell of his lips. 

Dean tried on a smile, but its self-assurance didn’t reach his eyes. They looked wild. 

“There are more neutral grounds than this,” Michael mused. Even though his lips didn’t unfurl in a teeth-flashing grin, the old arrogance, the delight one felt over trashy horror movies in his eyes had chills running down Dean’s spine. “Running full with people. Crowded. Loud. And easy to wipe out.”

Dean eyed him for a moment, torn between incredulously exasperated and reaching for his gun. “I liked you better before you tried to be funny.”

“Oh,” Michael said, and muscle by muscle he slowly disassembled his smile. “But I was dead serious.”

“Yeah. Not dead enough.” Dean said with the faintest glint in his eyes. Then, without further ado he headed into the diner, certain that it won’t be wiped off the Earth’s surface at least as long as he was in there.

Michael followed him not with a spring in his steps exactly, but quite the opposite. Their weight, the purpose that finally found him centered him better. It felt like he was caught in the gravity of an enormous magnet, of a planet, of a new sun. It suddenly pulled his spreading, spider-web thin consciousness into his vessel -- and it didn’t pain him. He had had moments of feeling trapped inside this corporeal form. Too present, too physical for his comprehension. Too little things to occupy his mind. But not now. Now here he was. Focused on a level that had his chest churn with ache, eyes sharp trained on Dean, and whole existence warmed with a single twinkle in those eyes.

_ Oh _ , Michael thought.  _ So this was how Lucifer felt _ .  

As they settled into a booth from where Dean could keep an eye on both his car and the entrance the blissful revelation that had felt like a blow to the head slowly started to settle and cool. Michael kept his eyes - his attention focused firm and sharp like the blade of a sword - on Dean, but Dean refused to look back at Michael. He looked stressed.

_ Nothing’s changed _ , Michael noted, between them or in the universe. Love didn’t melt the steel that was forged without as much as starlight. 

He was surprised when he found that it didn’t quench the warmth blooming in his chest. 

 

 

“Order something,” Dean hissed over his laminated menu.

For a second he thought he was going to have to risk breaking a toe on the archangel’s shin, but then Michael’s attention shifted from Dean to the waitress. He suddenly felt cold. At the same time she staggered a step to the side, like someone had bumped into her. 

“A tea,” Michael said. Then, as an afterthought, he added, “please.”

The waitress shook her head slightly. “All right,” she said. “Would you also like some honey or sugar with it?”

“There’s no need.” His voice sounded off. Dean wondered if it was due to not talking to Michael within a dream.

“O-kay,” she said, and it could be well assumed that she barely bit back on the  _ jeez _ that would have followed were she off the clock. “Anything else I can bring you, boys?”

“No, thanks, we’re good.” Dean was pretty sure his smile fell a little flat. So did hers. Either way she turned and left.

It would be so easy to slam his hands down on the table and say, “Hey, my nerves are fried, and Cas is fighting a war against everything you’ve held up and stood for, but could you please just stay the hell away from it all, so that he can help Sam who is dying? Again? Please?” It was ready laid out on his tongue straining against his teeth.

Instead, Dean forced his limbs to move slow and relaxed. He draped an arm over the back of his seat, leant back and showed his casually, confidently open chest to Michael. Michael, who looked just as confident as Dean desperately tried at the cost of wrapping all his nerve endings around his fist so that they wouldn’t unravel completely. Michael, who sat regal opposite of him as if he was sitting on a throne in the circle of his low-life, adoring subjects and not in a diner that sold breakfast 24/7, and where coffee was hopefully a little bit better than inked and sugared water. 

Dean wanted to beg that Michael just stabbed him in the chest - it was right here, please, no fighting back - just so that he could be done with this madness.

He was only half a minute from pumping his brain up for some small talk they could - with enough generosity and twice as much denial - call almost pleasant when Michael blinked - how absurd that him not-blinking wasn’t even creepy anymore, but the calming standard - and spoke.

“It’s about Sam, isn’t it?”

Dean wanted to cringe. Curl up under the table, under the linoleum floor and dissolve. Or erupt from there when nobody was expecting it.

“Sam’s fine.” 

“He’s,” Michael knocked his head to the side in thought, but for all he rather looked like a cobra just about to charm its prey into its mouth. “He’s not yet dying, but… It’s all in his head, isn’t it? Hell came back a-knocking.”

If cold white fury didn’t blind him Dean would have punched Michael in the face for that smug-looking almost smile that hung in the air around him.

“Stop fishing around in my head, you asshole!”

If possible, Michael only grew more smug at Dean’s outburst. He leant onto his crossed elbows on the table.

“I don’t need to intrude on your thoughts to know,” Michael said, smooth and slick, and so despicably charming. “It’s all on your face. In the tension around your mouth, the nervous light in your eyes. You worry for Sam.”

“Like fuck I’m going to talk about my brother with you!” 

“But maybe we could come to an agreement.”

Dean stared at Michael. Michael stared back at him with those pale eyes that knew no life, only power. Had they always been like that? 

Snake. All archangels were snakes. 

“Sammy is fine!”

“For now,” Michael repeated.

The words were like all ice of the Arctic had been poured down his spine. With seething hatred and boiling hope Dean stared at Michael, scrutinizing his face for the shadow of a sneer. All he found was earnest hard lines. 

“You believe that Lucifer will heal Sam,” Michael went on. “I hate to take such comfort from you, but he won’t.”

“He could!”

It was as if Michael was fishing among the deepest, darkest, most forbidden thoughts that resided in Dean’s head and still somehow managed to make Dean confess them.

Michael canted his head slightly to the side. “Maybe. But even if he could, he wouldn’t. I know my brother, Dean, and Lucifer is inherently and hopelessly selfish. Sam’s soul is unraveling and so does his mind along with it. Soon will come the time when he won’t be able to tell that he’s made it out of Hell. He has hallucinations of Lucifer.” It wasn’t a question. Dean was getting sick. “By the time Sam can’t tell hallucination and reality apart Lucifer wouldn’t risk to be identified as something he wasn’t. Not even for healing Sam.”

Dean’s muscles strained with the unbearable urge to launch at Michael and slam his pretty face in the table. He had moved past punching. Breaking furniture was on the agenda now.

Conveniently this was the time their waitress returned with a huge mug of tea, and a plate of toast and bacon and, absurdly, strawberries. Dean thanked her, then promptly shooed her away, just so that he could shove his plate to the side and lean over the table to--

Dean paused. He almost felt suddenly jerked above water as his brain worked through the sight of Michael absentmindedly fiddling with the teabag soaking his tea poison black. But then there was the prickling heat all over his body that was a clear indication of Michael’s undivided attention. Dean was back beneath the surface, boiling, and snapped:

“What would you do then, huh?! Will you pull a unicorn out of your pocket, warn about its blood being highly addictive, but get Sammy to drink it either way, and kaboom he should be whole and well again?”

Michael frowned. “Is that some reference that I should bother to get?”

Dean gritted his teeth. In any other case he would make it Adam’s homework to have Michael introduced to Harry Potter, but this was definitely no any other case. He glared, and glared, and possibly snarled. 

They possibly had a whole conversation about being fed up with having all kinds of false hope torn right out beneath Dean’s feet. 

“There might be something that could work,” Michael said. His thumbs absentmindedly ran half circles on the edge of his mug. His attention flickered from Dean to a distant point far past his ear. “Raphael, in Heaven, could possibly heal Sam.”

For a long-stretched minute Dean hoped he had heard wrong. He didn’t.

“No,” he croaked out.

“Raphael is the best healer--”

“No.” Michael just opened his mouth to go on, undisturbed, so Dean apparently needed to wreck his brain for more. “If Death couldn’t heal Sam--”

“Death is no healer. It wouldn’t happen from one moment to the next, but Heaven is a healing, safe environment.”

“With a civil war going on? I fucking doubt it!”

Michael remained silent. 

Dean’s jaw dropped.

“You can’t…”

Michael’s silence spoke for itself. He could, and he was very serious.

“I could convince Raphael to cooperate. Sam, after all is needed whole and alive in the Plan. She would agree to it. All that needs to be done is to bring Sam, mind and soul, whole person, to Heaven so that he could be healed. It would take a while, but this is the most promising option you have. All you have to do is talk Castiel out of his rebellion.”

“There is no option where Sammy dies,” Dean growled, voice shivering low. Threatening. Monsters of the night and old had learnt to dread this tone. 

“You asked for my help,” Michael countered.

“Sam. Doesn’t. Die.”

In very similar fashion, as if Dean had been looking in the mirror where the image needed a double-take to reflect the exact motions, Michael’s shoulders pulled up tight. A sardonic smile cracked his face in half. 

“Would you instead watch him fall into madness until he doesn’t recognize his own body and claws his way out of it?” Michael even copied Dean’s tone of voice. 

“Death is not just something we brush off, you know. What is my guarantee that you’d give Sam back to me? That you won’t hold him hostage, blackmail me to say yes only to then throw Sam to Lucifer instead?”

Michael’s face grew long, his eyes big and incredulous. Then, slowly, his lips curled back over his flashing teeth. The crackling tension in the air, too, got pushed back, rebundled just below the archangel’s shoulder blades. 

“That’s kind of you to say,” his eyes were hard, didn’t hold any humour or even hostility.

Dean shot him a snarling smile. “As for Cas--”

“If you cared for your friend, then you’d convince him to end this delusion! Capitulate, and beg that this entire madness be forgotten by the time Father returns!”

“I won’t tell Cas to give up his cause! As much as Sam’s life is his to live, it’s Cas’s decision to give you the finger and tell you to fuck off!”

“That’s a very unreasonable decision.”

“That’s free will to you, man. Rights and wrongs and all their consequences.”

At first Michael didn’t seem to find his voice. His mouth moved silently around the word of  _ consequences _ a couple of times as colour rose in bright blotches in his face. Were the sight a little less frightening Dean would even worry he might burst a nerve. 

“Free will has no place in Heaven!” Michael snapped eventually. His voice was low, weighed down with some terrible emotion he fought to reign in. “I have seen what free will does. I’ve seen the curse, I’ve watched it sunder Heaven! My family! I have seen angels fall! I gave Castiel a taste of his iniquity, what it feels like to disobey, but he will end up as Lucifer did, is that what you want, Dean?”

“Well, I don’t know, I’m more curious about what do  _ you  _ want?” Dean asked instead. 

Dean wanted to punch something. 

Of course he saw the vague outlines of Michael’s point. He had known enough of this dragged-out war that turned into more of a zero-sum game than either participating party was comfortable to admit. And of fucking course he didn’t want Cas to end up dueling with Lucifer, and then Crowley, too, for the throne of Hell, but… Somehow he refrained. He didn’t even let it show in his eyes or the twitch of his jaw. 

And then, there was the promise he made Cas. 

Between phone call and arriving to the diner, before this entire damned conversation swiveled out of hand Dean had thought about this. He had thought about this in great detail already after his last dream starring the archangel, and then later under the shower too. He had a vague idea of a plan. Not the location per se, because right in the middle of the diner he couldn’t exactly lean over the table and stick his tongue down Michael’s throat. Instead he reached out with his foot  and searched with it for Michael’s under the table. At the same time he reorganized his expression, and was almost surprised at how easy his brows melted from the frown, and his mouth curled into a suggestive smile under heavily lidded eyes. 

For a moment he couldn’t decide if he was on the right track of getting his message through. The timing could have been better, and he really could have done without Michael freezing up on him. 

The angel’s expression was nothing if not confusing. He stared, lips parted, jaw slack, and the colour just spread across the bridge of his nose and around his eyes. This shade of red actually looked pretty good on him. But it still didn’t mean Dean could be assured of his success. He didn’t know if it was maybe just the stuttering feedback between brain and mouth in angels when it came to sexual advances. Dean had been quite certain Michael didn’t have this problem. Not, at least, when he was initiating.

Then Dean got reassured that his message had come across. 

Only in the worst possible ways.

The anger and poisonous green disgust that flashed through Michael’s face had Dean reel back in his seat. It felt like being slapped in the face by an avalanche.

_ Angels don’t have feelings _ , Dean reminded himself in an attempt to quench down the hurt and shame that tried to flush his face with lava.

Just as Dean decided to screw the whole thing and save the last part of his dignity Michael’s hand was suddenly on Dean’s forearm. It shackled him to the table. 

Fear shot through him. He had no idea what was going to happen.

Michael forced a long breath out through his nose. His eyes closed, a curtain lowered and raised again. His hand didn’t loosen its grip on Dean’s arm.

“This,” he pressed out, and the words could just as well steam as they left his mouth, “is not what I want.”

“Yeah, got it,” Dean said, aiming for flippant and missing, again. “No problem, but you could have maybe warned me earlier. Like, before we regularly started making out in my dreams.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“No, it’s fine, I get it.”

Michael shouted, “No, you don’t!”

Dean stared at Michael, he was breathing heavily. 

“I’m going,” Dean said. His brunch had gone cold already. Besides, it wasn’t like he had place for hunger on the battlefield of fear, shame and anger. “Let me up.”

There was something strange in Michael’s eyes, something wild as he looked at Dean across the table. But Dean stood his ground firm. And slowly, Michael’s hand lifted. It felt cold. 

Dean fished a couple bills from his wallet, he guessed it would cover their unfinished - un-started - meal, and stood to leave. Michael didn’t reach out for him, didn’t say a word. He remained in his place, folded into himself, all chinned up, taking his what, defeat? with his head held high and jaw clenched. 

Just as he was about to pass Michael’s seat he didn’t know what had gotten into him - trying to nail another memory to his personal wall of shame? - Dean paused and asked softly, “Would you come out?”

On the way out, surrounded by the chatter of guests and staff, the clinking of cutlery and plates and pots and pans in the back, Dean felt like how Orpheus must have felt making his way out of Hades.

He stopped again when he reached the Impala, his hands buried deep in his pockets, the key comfortingly warm in his palm. He took a deep breath, steeled himself. 

When Dean turned around Michael stood only two paces in front of him. The usual mask of his face was cracked in several paces. It immediately stole that one bracing breath he had been holding onto.

“What do I not get this time?” he croaked out.

Michael took one step forward. His eyes were losing and gaining colour like the first outburst of flames licked the logs black and red with tentative hunger.

“Me,” Michael said, “And that we never all get what we want.”

It was a challenge, a warning, that Dean was too greedy; he wanted too many things all at once. How could he wish for a gigantic favour that would grant Sam’s well-being and not deliver a fatal blow to Cas’s revolution; how could he dare to offer himself when his sacrifice, bloody or profane wasn’t desired by those high above -- but Michael took one last step without Dean noticing, and he was warm night and dazzling smoke, and the dizziness that left Dean’s lips parched nagged him that he was missing the point entirely.

They were so close. Dean could cut his nose on the sharp bone of Michael’s cheek, all he had to do was tilt his head only a tiny fraction to either side. When he tried to duck his head he did. As he stared at the play of shadows on Michael’s throat and his collarbone between the collar of his shirt and jacket, that feeling came back again from when they sat down. He wanted to cry so bad, bury his face in Michael’s shoulder, or his hair, smell the smoke and ember there and hope it would bring him back to all his firm hatred and disgust he held for these unworldly creatures. 

He might not even mind getting lost on his way.

Warm skin brushed against his wrists just above the line where they sank into his pockets. The fingertips traced the jut of bone on either side. They caressed him so gently.

Dean squeezed his eyes shut. Blindly he pressed the thought of a kiss to Michael’s mouth.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, I honestly tried to stick with shorter chapters, but Dean and Michael really can't keep their hostile interactions short D:
> 
> Also, I totally wanted to end this chapter tragic and kiss-less. I blame it on you dear commentators on my last chapter :P Now you don't know how complicated you made my life. From now on I have - again - nothing of the next chapters.


End file.
